


Instead of Going to Bed

by AlleiraDayne



Series: Instead of Going to Bed DAI Verse [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Sexual Content, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-04 02:05:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 27,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5316155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleiraDayne/pseuds/AlleiraDayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Amallia Trevelyan met the commander of the Inquisition forces for the first time, she was wary of the ex-templar, yet oddly and equally fascinated by him. When he dragged her from the avalanche that covered Haven, that wariness faded, making way for a fondness that would soon know no bounds.  The attraction mutually felt, Cullen attempts small gestures, determined to find a way to her heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nightmares

Amallia shook violently, the freezing wind whipping around her. Snow and frost continued to build, threatening to cover her.

_Herald, there are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide._

His voice of reason echoed in her head.

_We’re dying, but we can decide how. Many don’t get that choice._

“We-we’ll … s-see about th-that, C-Commander,” she uttered aloud as she crawled another inch in the snow, dragging the dead weight of her entire body by her left arm. His face flooded her mind, and she held onto it, latched onto it for her life.

Haven was destroyed. So many people had been lost. But through her sacrifice she had saved many more.

_But what of your escape?_

She remembered the absolute horror in his eyes as he realized she wasn’t planning on escaping. She was going to give the rest of the people a chance to survive even if the cost was her life.

_Perhaps you will surprise it … find a way …_

She screamed out in pain as she inched forward again, her right arm badly broken. She could hardly breathe through her broken ribs. Lacerations covered her body. When she looked behind her over her shoulder, she saw smeared streaks of red and pink churned into the snow.

_Do you think we’re doing the right thing? The Inquisition?_

She heard her own voice then from what seemed like ages ago.

_Absolutely. I have no doubt in my mind the Inquisition will put an end to the Breach and restore peace._

And his voice again, so confident, in response. She had only just met him, terrified of what they were asking of her. They called her the Herald of Andraste and looked to her to seal the Breach. Her, a mage of all people, sent by the Maker to mend the sky. Or so they said.

“W-won’t be w-worth a d-damn if I t-turn into a m-m-meat p-popsicle out here …”

And she was working closely with an ex-templar. His face clear in her mind, she remembered being entirely untrusting of him at first. But that feeling had been quickly quelled and she had begun to enjoy speaking with him. He was incredibly intelligent and never minced his words. He had also treated her as he did any other person. Not a mage, but a whole, real, person. Not a threat over which to be lorded.

_Herald! What are you doing?!_

She recalled the chantry door slamming shut and a shimmering blue aura covered it. He was going to follow her, help her start the last avalanche to bury Haven. There was no way she was going to allow that.

His fist slamming on the barrier of the chantry door pounded in her head. Her extremities had gone numb, but her head felt as though it would explode. Another inch forward and new pain blossomed across her entire body, blindingly bright and obscuring her vision. Darkness consumed her.

* * *

 

_Amaaaallia!_

She startled, if only a twitch. Through the fog of her impending death, she heard his voice.

_Amaaaallia!_

They were going to find her, she knew it. They had to. She had held on this long, it was impossible they would not find her.

_Amaaaallia!_

The mark had saved her life then. So much snow had nearly buried her nobody would have found her if the blighted thing had not flared to life in that instant. Sparking brightly, it illuminated the snow around her in an eerie green glow.

_There! It’s her!_

She heard him attempt to sprint through the snow, stumbling in his rush to her. 

_Thank the Maker!_

Warm hands cupped her face, felt at her throat.

_She’s alive! Barely!_

The world floated away as she was lifted from the snow.

* * *

 

_Will she survive?_

His voice again. Such concern. She wanted to tell him she would be okay, they were healing her now. But her body would not respond.

_Is there anything I can do?_

The insistence in his voice was palpable. She drifted into oblivion as the healers began their work.

* * *

 

_Please, wake up, Mal._

She couldn’t. Not yet. She was still so cold. But she could feel the warmth of his hands as they worried away at the backs of her fingers, softly stroked her forehead, lightly brushed hair from her face.

_Mal, I need– We need you._

It was all she had to hold on to, but the darkness consumed her again.


	2. An Observation of Habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen is kind of a creeper, unintentionally so.

Amallia bolted upright with a gasp, the mark on her hand flaring to life. She was no longer in Haven, no longer in the refugee camp. She was in her warm bed, safe and healed, in Skyhold.

“What a nightmare,” she uttered to no one. Looking to the window, she saw it was still dark. Quite late. But the mark on her hand continued to spark, pain lancing up her arm. Sweat-slicked and restless, she rolled out of her bed, dressed, and made her way downstairs.

In the great hall, the fire in the main hearth had died down, softly crackling flames giving little light to the giant space. It cast the hall in an eerie glow, throwing sharp shadows into the furthest corners. She walked slowly, considering the construction and support work that had been set up over the most recent weeks.

Skyhold had been both a blessing and a curse. While the Inquisition had been in desperate need of a new home, they hadn’t been prepared to rebuild one. But at the time, Skyhold was their only option and thanks to Solas, they had found it.

_And within days of our arrival, they asked me to be their Inquisitor._

Even months later, it was unreal that so many people believed in her. She was a random noble’s daughter and might as well have been a commoner for how little her family cared for her. She had been shipped off to Ostwick very young. Her parents were devastated, but they weren’t about to harbor an apostate.

The Circle at Ostwick had not been awful, she recollected as she walked towards the main doors to the hall. It had been educational and critical to her training as a mage. Her harrowing had gone off without a hitch and she was incredibly skilled. She had recently chosen to become a Knight-Enchanter, completely enamored by the idea of being in the thick of battle with a staff and a  _sword,_ even if the sword was only ethereal.

She passed through the doors and made her way down the main stairway to the tavern. She knew she would at least find Iron Bull there, if not the Chargers as well. A drink and some company would put her mind at ease, help her ignore the crackling pain in her arm, and she would be able to sleep again.

She crossed the yard with swift strides and entered the tavern to ruckus laughter and shouts of greetings. Tension released her tired muscles and she finally felt relaxed in the company of her friends.

* * *

 

Across the battlements, Cullen watched her enter the tavern as he had done many nights before. Unable to sleep himself, he had first noticed Amallia’s penchant for drink and obnoxious company after they had arrived at Skyhold. He wondered if she was alright.

She was an anomaly to him; he had known many mages over the last decade, but most of that was through the lens of a Templar. And that lens had not been a positive one. He knew he would be forever disgusted with himself and his behavior in Kinloch Hold and in Kirkwall. Nothing would ever make him feel better about those parts of his life.

But when Amallia spoke with him, she was open, candid, and honest. She held nothing back, giving him the full force of her opinion and had done so since the first day they had met in Haven in the war room. He had heard she had saved many lives going through the mountain pass, against Cassandra’s insistent advice to charge with the soldiers.

That spoke volumes to him. Cassandra was not a woman with which to argue. Amallia had done just that, going against her advice. And Cassandra had followed her anyway. It seemed the Herald had a way with people and that way was not completely lost on him.

He found himself thinking of her more often than not, and not in a professional capacity. She was his leader, but that didn’t stop him from staring at her in a way that was utterly embarrassing. And when he thought they had lost her in the aftermath at Haven, his life felt as if it were unraveling, spiraling out of his control. The relief he felt when he found her in the snow, coupled with her survival and expedient recovery, was indescribable.

The affect she had on him was both irritating and euphoric. Try as he might, disregarding the way he felt when she was near him was impossible.

As his thoughts drifted, he heard the door to the tavern open, the dying sounds of tavern revelry drifting across the ramparts. He watched as Amallia crossed the yard, plodded up the main stair case and shuffled into the great hall, clearly exhausted. He whispered a silent prayer that she would find some rest.


	3. If At First You Don't Succeed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then Cullen tries to not be a creeper and fails spectacularly.

“I need a drink,” Amallia muttered as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

Josephine scoffed at her. “Inquisitor, we’re nearly finished. We just need to plan our travel to Samson’s camp at the Shrine of Dumat.”

Cullen watched Amallia from his side of the table as she rolled her eyes, clearly irritated with the task he had asked of her. “Ama – Inquisitor, if you would rather we–”

She interrupted him. “No, Commander. This must be done. Maddox and the camp holds crucial information on Samson and his armor. We cannot pass up this opportunity.” She sighed as she focused on the map.

It pained him to see her so frustrated with the situation. He knew it would ultimately help their cause, but he saw how much it was affecting her and his task was the cause of it. He hated that he was the cause of her irritation.

Discussion of the assault on the camp wrapped up within the hour. Instead of going to bed, Amallia decided to head down to the tavern for her much desired drink. With the meeting adjourned, she followed Commander Cullen through the doors, the last to leave. As they walked down the hallway, Amallia found herself staring at Cullen’s backside. She wondered how one could move with such deadly poise in tight leather pants.  

It wasn’t until Cullen spoke that she realized she was then staring at the front of his pants and about to walk straight into him.  

“Ama – Inquisitor?”  

She startled slightly, coming to a halt as her eyes snapped up to his. She went to speak, but her words failed her and all she did was gape like a fish out of water.  

“Are you alright, Inq-“  

“Commander, please,“ she started as she held up a hand. "You can call me Amallia. Mal, even.”  _Andraste’s arse, anything is better than “Inquisitor”._   

He grinned, the scar on his lip pulling taught. “Is there something you need?”  

She shook her head. “No, I was just following you,” she stated this as a fact. He raised an eyebrow at her. “Er, I mean,” she stuttered. “Out of the war room, I was just … I was just following you out of the war room.”  

He nodded and smirked. “Ah. Well then, not too busy tonight?” he asked with a hopeful raise of his brow.  

She looked ahead to see Josephine and Leliana waiting for them. Leliana spoke up, "Yes, Inquisitor, join us.”

Cullen shot a look at Leliana to discourage her.

“Um,” Amallia stuttered. “Well, I um … I,” she began, dragging her eyes back to his. “I have some … some research …” she tried to find the excuse in her but she was caught in his stare again, the golden amber eyes that she knew saw through her ruse. He was leaning closer to her. Though they were of a height, his frame was larger than hers. It took all of her willpower not to reach out for one of his well-muscled arms.  

“Oh,” Cullen said curtly, the hope fading from his face. He straightened away from her and nodded. “I see. Busy. Well, I should find some rest myself, it’s been a long day.” He looked over his shoulder glaring at Leliana again.

“Oh, come on, Inquisitor, please? We were just going to sit in the hall for a bit, talk about things  _besides_ the Inquisition,” Leliana called from the end of the hallway.

Cullen turned back to Amallia with a grin this time.  

_Maferath’s balls, he shouldn’t be allowed to do that around me._

He had taken her hand in his and brushed his lips against the backs of her fingers. “Good night, Mal.”  

It took every ounce of strength she had left not to crumple to the floor.  

“Guh …” she gulped for air. “Good night, Commander.”  

He held on to her hand, taking a step towards her as he returned it to her side, slowly. “If I am to call you Mal, then I am afraid you cannot keep calling me Commander all the time. It’s too formal. And I hate it,” he said with a half-grin, half-grimace.  

“Fine. Good night, Cullen,” and with that, she side stepped him quickly before he could object further. When she reached the door, Leliana and Josephine blocked her way.

“You’re no fun,” Josephine joked.

Amallia gaped at her in mock scandal. “Why, Josephine, I’ll I have you know I am loads of fun.” She opened the door and passed through, but before the door shut she added, “Loads!” quite loudly.

As the door shut, Leliana looked to Cullen. “Sorry, Commander, I tried.”

Cullen was approaching them. “Tried what?” he growled.

“She’s lovely, isn’t she?” Josephine asked.

Cullen’s face reddened. “What are you talking about?”

She shot a look at Leliana wondering if he could be serious. Leliana addressed him. “Amallia. She’s pretty, no? Dark hair, porcelain skin, icy blue eyes. Easy to look at,” she swooned.

“Maybe you should court her,” Cullen quipped with a raised brow. “You sound as though you’re in love with her.”

She laughed softly, not phased by his joke. “Hello, pot, this is kettle. Kettle, this is pot.” Josephine fell into fits of laughter.

Cullen made a disgusted noise as he cut between the two of them and opened the door. “I don’t need this right now. I’m going to sleep.”

Josephine sighed, “Relax, Commander. She’ll figure it out.”

* * *

 

Unfortunately, as Amallia entered the great hall, she realized she had told Cullen she was going to her rooms to “do research”.  _Research Andraste’s tits, for all the good it’ll do me_. She decided that she would go up to her rooms for a few minutes, giving Cullen and the others time to get to their rooms before she would make her way for the tavern.  

While pacing her room, she realized this had been a terrible idea. Alone with her thoughts and the recent conversation with Cullen – as if she could even consider it such – had put her out of sorts. Now all she could do was think about him.

She allowed herself to admit that Cullen was growing on her. With each week, they felt closer, learning more about each other as they worked together. After a few hours playing chess a few days prior, they learned of their families and where they had come from. And he had not let her win their match, which was a welcomed challenge. Most people in Skyhold would either not play her or would let her win. Cassandra was awful, letting her win nearly all the time.

He treated her like an equal. That was the most important thing, considering his history and prior beliefs and her being a mage. People change, she noted, and she was grateful that Cullen had been able to do that. Initially, her slowly smoldering attraction to him was bothersome and worrying. The thought of being romantically involved with Cullen was terrifying and alluring at the same time.

But she didn’t want to jeopardize the Inquisition’s integrity. She did not want to have that relationship and sacrifice her ability to judge her adviser’s recommendations equally. And then her mind wandered to the possibilities were they in a less complicated situation …

Minutes passed by while her imagination got the best of her. With a shake of her head, she returned to reality and left her room in a huff, skin flushed and uncomfortably warm.  _I’ll need three drinks to forget all of this, Maker damn that man._

Through the nearly empty great hall – Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana nowhere to be seen – and down the steps into the yard, Amallia strode up to the door of the tavern, flung it wide open and entered. The din of the tavern enveloped her and she drank it in deeply. It was relaxing, the sound, the smells, the company …  

_Incomplete company … strange, whenever he is not near me, I feel like something is missing. He has earned a permanent place in my mind._

After only a moment’s delay, she got herself an ale from the bar, found a chair near Iron Bull and his Chargers, and straddle it with the back in front of her. They talked, shared stories, and played cards. It was a much needed stress relief, if only temporary.  

Hours of conversation passed before Amallia realized she was exhausted all over again. Drink had numbed her some but the day was finally catching up, so she headed back for the keep to get some rest.  

Across the battlements, Cullen watched her again. Frequenting the tavern seemed to have become a hobby of hers. He was unsure if she liked the company, the drink, or if it was a welcomed distraction from all the goings on of the Inquisition.  

But he was determined to find out.


	4. Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like a little sparring to ease out of the awkardness.

Amallia woke far too early, the mark on her hand burning so painfully it pulled her out of a deep sleep. She cursed as she pounded her fist on the mattress; the pain was getting worse and she was worried about what that could mean.

After washing her face and dressing, the mark had not calmed. The painful bursts were lasting longer, taking more time to dull in recent weeks. Nothing seemed to help besides ignoring it and continuing about her day, finding things to distract her.

With the early hour, she hoped a walk on the empty grounds of Skyhold would help. Time alone to think appealed to her as well. She left her rooms, swiftly descending the steps to the main hall. Early morning sunlight pierced the high windows behind her throne, dust moats floating through the shafts of light. The fire was down to embers in the hearth and the candles had been put out at some point during the night.

A cool, almost cold breeze drifted in through the main door of the hall. The tops of the trees in the yard were mostly changed at this point. She could smell snow in the air. The nights were cold enough, she thought, and snow would be a welcomed change.

As she neared the door, she could hear the distinct thuds of wood against stuffing and heavy grunts with each impact. Someone was already in the yard training. When she passed through the threshold of the doors, she could see the entire yard was empty but for one man and the training dummies.

Cullen took a reprieve, wiping sweat from his brow with his forearm. His left arm was encased in his shield, and the right gripped his training sword. With a downward spin of the sword, he assaulted again, slashing downward and across, right to left. He lifted, then slashed again, this time left to right, making an X. He rotated his body with the second swing, letting the momentum carry his shield over for a bash. With his weight on his front leg, he stepped in at an angle with the right and stabbed under the ribs of the dummy.

Amallia descended the steps quietly as she watched his tactics, carefully studying the way he moved. He continued various techniques of assaults, blocking imagined attacks, parrying imagined strikes. He moved with a deadly grace, powerful but meticulous. Where Iron Bull used brute force and overpowered his enemies, Cullen used intense precision and focus to slice his foes to pieces. She was grateful to have such an incredible person training and leading her army.

She neared the training circle and saw him falter, sliding in the soft dirt. He cursed loudly as he fell to a knee, the growl echoing across the stone walls of the castle. With a frustrated grunt, he tossed his wooden sword in the dirt and ripped off his shield. He ran both of his hands through his hair as his chin tucked into his chest. For a minute, she watched as he shuddered, trying to breathe deeply to steady himself. Something was clearly bothering him.

Amallia was leaning against the wooden railing of the fence when she spoke. “You know, I could help you train.”

Cullen wheeled around, taken by surprise. He had not heard her approach. She saw the muscles in his arms tense at being happened upon without his notice. When he realized it was her, he relaxed.

He leaned down to pick up his sword and shield and approached her with a glimmer in his eye. “Good morning, Mal.” He smiled his soft smile.

“Good morning,  _Commander_ ,” she jeered. Leaning against the railing next to her was a six foot staff. She motioned towards it with her head. “What say you? Let’s have a go.”

Cullen looked at the staff and then to her, incredulous. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

With lightning speed, Amallia snatched the staff from the railing in both hands, wheeled the bottom end over the top rung of the fence, and rapped it against Cullen’s sword hand. Too late, he jumped back with a shout. His hand sprang open and his sword dropped to the ground.

She raised an eyebrow at him and he returned the look with a glare. “I can see I am out-matched,” she said as she put the staff down.

“Pick it up,” he growled at her. Cullen picked up his training sword and was strapping his shield to his forearm again as he moved to the center of the training ring. She smiled brightly at him, picked up the staff and rounded the fence.

“One condition,” Cullen stated as he straightened, lowering his weapons.

“I won’t use magic, Cullen. I’m not daft,” she scoffed.

“Good. There’s not much I can do against that anymore,” he said as he crouched into a ready stance.

She gripped her staff in both hands, separating it into thirds, and stepped back with her right foot into her own ready position. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve stopped taking lyrium,” he blurted out.

Realization dawned on her, his frustration earlier becoming clear. “Are … are you okay?”

He shrugged. “No, but I hope to be soon. There are days where I can hardly walk. The nightmares are awful. That’s why I’m out here so early. We can talk more of it later.”

As if on cue, the mark on Amallia’s hand flared to life, blindingly bright. She gasped, fist clenching. As quickly as it came, the moment passed and she shook out her hand. With a grimace, she returned her grip to her staff.

“And the riddle solves itself,” Cullen noted as he began circling her like a predator stalking its prey.

She moved with him. “Yes, it woke me. I thought a walk alone might help. But then I found you.”

“I suppose I should be grateful,” he chided. Suddenly, he faked a forward assault, lunging short with a stomp of his front foot. Amallia didn’t flinch, only continued to circle him slowly with a grin. “And I suppose I shouldn’t think to fool you so easily,” he mumbled with a smirk.

She barked a laugh. “You may have already done so, Commander.” With that she attacked. She advanced, striking down from the right, then stepped again and struck down from the left with the bottom of the staff.

Cullen parried easily, once with the sword and once with his shield. He turned into her second strike, shield sliding down the staff and met her square in the chest, sending her reeling backwards.

“Good,” she chimed. “At least I know I don’t have to take it easy on you, old man.” She gave him half a grin, goading him.

He grimaced. “Old man? I’m not …” he trailed off as he considered her joke. He attacked, the thought forgotten, but Amallia was ready. She blocked a sweeping slashing from the right, spun into him, and stabbed as though the staff were a spear. He blocked with his shield and her staff ricocheted away.

She turned into him again, this time bringing the staff high and spun it once over her head, whipping the top half straight down as the bottom half rotated under her right arm. At the last second, Cullen raised his shield high and blocked over his head.

His chest was wide open. With her left hand, Amallia lifted the bottom of the staff and stabbed with it. She could have hit him in the stomach, knowing it would put him on the ground in an instant. Instead, she aimed higher and hit him square in the chest.

Cullen wheeled backwards, taking two steps to open the distance. He knew Amallia was capable with a staff, but she used it for magic, not hand to hand combat. It had been stupid to think she didn’t use it in a practical way, and now he was paying for it. Changing his tactics he decided to stay back and wait for the opportunity to disarm her.

Amallia noted the distance Cullen had created and maintained between them. When she stepped in, he evaded either by stepping back or to the side. He made no move to assault, waiting for her to strike.

“Distance can be useful, but you must know you cannot reach me from there,” she hissed hardly loud enough for him to hear.

He acknowledged the thought with a smile. “I’ll reach you yet.”

She laughed a breathless laugh as she adjusted her grip on the staff. With her left hand near the bottom and her right hand shy of the middle, she now had nearly four feet of reach in front of her.

Cullen gaped. “What are you doing?”

“Trying something different,” she chimed with a coy shrug, and then attacked. She only needed to take one step forward to reach him, snapping the staff down and around, wielding it quite like a spear. Cullen parried and dodged to the best of his ability, turning away each of her attacks.

The style she fought with was unfamiliar to Cullen. She might as well have been using a bamboo rod for how wild the attacks were. The staff bent as she whipped it about as if it were a willow switch. She jumped and spun, leaping at him as the staff whistled through the air. She made it look easy, as if she had been born to do this. He watched as her body moved with the grace of a well-practiced veteran, parrying and blocking as she pressed on.

After several prolonged minutes of Amallia’s assault, Cullen noted her attacks were slowing, less focused, more erratic. He was letting her wear herself out. She missed a step, sliding on the dirt as he had done earlier, and he capitalized on her mistake.

He spun to the side of the staff as she slipped with her stab. With his shield, he rapped the knuckles of her left hand and it popped open. He hauled the flat of his blade around, slapping her right hand, and her staff fell to her feet. With a final shove, he knocked her to the ground with his shield, following her, sword pointing at her throat. He stood to the side of her, breathing heavily as he waited for her to concede.

In that infinitely small space of time, Amallia retaliated. She rolled over and up to one knee, grabbing the end of the staff as she passed over it. Cullen followed not wanting to give up any ground while she was disarmed, but had not seen her grab the staff until it was too late.

With both hands wrapped tightly around the butt end she swung the staff high overhead. Cullen realized he was much too close. With the same lightning swiftness he saw earlier, the staff arced behind him, all six feet of it sweeping out in front of her.

She caught him in the backs of his legs and lifted, taking both feet out from under him. He landed hard on his back, dropping his sword, and saw the length of the staff blur through the air towards his face. There was no chance he would bring his shield up to block in time.

His breath caught in his chest as the staff stopped within inches of his mouth, eyes wide and mouth agape. She held it there a moment before a handful of recruits began clapping wildling for them, cheering.

Amallia turned to them, surprised to see the group of recruits gathered around the fence. In the second she was distracted, Cullen grabbed the end of the staff as he sat up and  _pulled._ She still had a death grip on the end of it and pitched forward, falling into him. She caught herself against him, hands pressing on his chest. His shirt was soaked through with sweat and she could smell his leathery musk emanating from him.

He caught her by the upper arms, holding her steady and watched as her eyes went from her hands on his chest up to his collar to the length of his neck, his jaw, his lips, his scar. Finally, they came to rest on his eyes, her own blown wide and her lips parted ever so slightly in shock.

He grinned his wicked grin and pulled her closer so he could whisper in her ear.

“I’ll want a rematch.”

She gasped at the hotness of his breath on her ear, his stubble rasping against her cheek. Goosebumps covered her flesh and she shivered in his embrace. 

“Absolutely,  _Commander,_ ” she whispered in turn, voice husky and low. She heard a soft sigh escape from him, sending waves of heat across her body.

Knowing they were being watched, they stood together, helping each other to their feet. They had only the moment before recruits approached and began peppering Amallia with questions about her staff techniques. She attempted to answer them as best as she could, but was distracted by Cullen who was walking away, gear in hand, back to his office. He gave her one more smile over his shoulder before he made for the stairs on the far side of the tavern.


	5. Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A date? In the middle of a war? Sure, why not.

The rest of the day proved to be difficult. Amallia was sore from sparring and a soak in a tub had done little to help. The afternoon was filled with overseeing many of the renovations taking place around Skyhold and she was never alone. Cullen was also busy with troop movements, training new recruits, and reports from the field. He had not realized he had not found a minute to stop all day until his stomach made such a loud grumble at the war table, Josephine insisted to know what was wrong.

“Commander, when did you last eat?”

He was staring at Amallia across the table, imagining her face within an inch of his after he had pulled her to him at the end of their sparring match. He could still smell her fragrant soap, the earthy northern coast so refreshing. He had learned just how blue her eyes were and had lost himself in them again during the meeting.

“Commander?” Josephine prodded. He realized that not only Amallia, but Josephine and Lelianna were staring at him.

Heat crept up his neck. “Eat? Er, I ate breakfast,” he said as he scratched the back of his head, looking down to the map.

“No, you didn’t,” Amallia said, more to herself than the group. Cullen looked back to her, surprised and embarrassed. “I … went to your office earlier. About midday. Your breakfast tray was still untouched.”

This earned her a smile. Cullen smirked as if knowing she sought him out after they had nearly beaten each other senseless gave him quite a thrilling sensation in the pit of his empty stomach.

“Have you eaten at all today, Commaner?!” Josephine admonished.

He thought for a moment, snapping out of his reverie as his hand went to his gurgling stomach. “No … I must have forgotten.”

Josephine scoffed. “This is unacceptable. We will adjourn the meeting until later tonight once our Commander has finally eaten so I don’t have to speak over his stomach.”

Leliana and Josephine promptly left the war room. Cullen was suspicious of their behavior; they had left the room so quickly, he nor Amallia had time to gather any documents or notes. But he was appreciative of the chance to speak with Amallia in private.

“Mal.”

“Hm?” she responded with a small smile. Something about that smile was special. He hardly ever saw it on her. He was almost positive that the only time he saw it was when she smiled at him.

“I’m … sorry. About yesterday. I forgot to say that this morning,” he stammered as he walked around the war table.

Amallia didn’t seem phased at his broaching this subject. She frowned in disagreement. “There’s nothing you need apologize for, Cullen.”

 _Thank the Maker_  … “Mal, I need to …“ he paused with a sigh. "I want to tell you … well, I really just want to talk about …” He snapped his mouth shut with a huff through his nose, then spat, “Maferath’s balls, why can’t I just say it?” He sighed a rough growl of disgust at himself as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Cullen, would it help if I talked?”

He nodded vigorously at that, eyes screwed shut in frustration.

“Well, I’ve been thinking. Especially after your … attempt the other night, and my subsequent rudeness, I would like to apologize. And I would like to make it up to you.”

It was several seconds before Cullen responded, eyes popping open.

“What?” His voice was low and quiet.

Amallia walked over to him, held out her hand requesting his arm and said, “Join me for dinner?”

“I uh … dinner?” His voice cracked. He felt as though the tables had been completely turned on him.

“Yes, dinner.  _Just_  dinner. Though, it might help me entertain the idea of … well, we’ll get to that later,” she said, hand still outstretched. She motioned for his arm once more.

“Dinner with you sounds wonderful,” he responded with after finally finding his words and held out his arm for her. She wrapped hers under his, hand resting perfectly in the crook of his elbow. They left together, arm in arm down the hallway until they reached the door.

“Maybe we should …” Cullen started.

“Arms entwined is a  _bit_ much, people would start wondering right away,” Amallia said, understanding precisely what he meant, and slipped her hand back to her side. Cullen opened the door and motioned her through.

She hesitated for a moment when she saw the sly grin hooking the right corner of his lips.  _He wants to look? Okay, I’ll give him something to look at_.

She sauntered out in front of him, hips swaying as best as she could without looking obvious. She felt his hand brush the small of her back as she passed him. She tried to pay him no mind, shuffling through papers in her arms.

Cullen definitely watched the mesmerizing rhythm of her stride. Josephine was at her desk and looked as if she was about to call Amallia’s attention, but stopped the moment she saw Cullen following her. Grateful for her perceptive capabilities, Cullen noted he would have to thank Josephine later.

In the great hall, Amallia parted with him briefly to store the notes in her room. Within a minute she rushed back down to the great hall and found Varric and Cullen talking.

"So, what do you think, Curly?” Varric was asking as she approached them.

Cullen thought for a moment before responding. “Let me think about it some. I’ll get back to you.”

Varric eyed her with a smirk. “Don’t wait too long. You know where to find me,” he said as he returned to his chair in the hall.

Amallia eyed him suspiciously. “What was that about?”

He frowned. “Nothing important. Would you like to eat in the tavern or in my office?”

She seriously considered his office, but decided against it. “Let’s start with the tavern, for now. Take it slow?”

He smiled at her. “As you wish.”

They walked together, side by side, through the hall, down the steps and across the yard to the tavern. Through the door, they found the tavern full of its usual Inquisition patrons. Iron Bull and the Chargers saw Amallia enter, waving her to them, but stopped when Cullen followed her. Bull simply smiled and waved her away, as if he understood her true purpose in being there.

They sat at a table with a chess board. Cullen set up the board while Amallia asked for food and drink for both of them from the barkeep.

“Would you like to play a round?”

Amallia nodded her head. Cullen had removed his gloves and set them on the far end of the table. He put the final pieces in place and sat back, inviting her to start.

Four hours passed before Cullen realized they had yet to reconvene their meeting at the war table. He mumbled as much to Amallia.

“Maybe we can take the night off?” she suggested as she pushed her empty plate and cup to the edge of the table.

Cullen scoffed, “I highly doubt Josephine or Leliana would allow that.”

As if on cue, Jim, the private, entered the tavern and found them.

“Commander, Inquisitor,” he saluted both of them.

Cullen looked as though he wanted to kill the man. “Yes?”

“Leliana would like you both to return to the war room to complete the meeting.”

Cullen sighed. “Back to reality.”

“As they say, no rest for the wicked,” Amallia said to his back as they left the tavern.


	6. Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen takes himself to task after weeks of pining for Amallia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW (male masturbation)

The war table was the last place Amallia wanted to be at that moment. After spending such a nice evening with Cullen, she wished it had never ended. There were no expectations there, no keeping up images, no feigning politeness, no insults disguised as compliments. She realized that around Cullen, she felt the best she’d felt in months being herself. And Cullen made that incredibly easy. She didn’t have to hide the fact that she was a mage; he accepted that part of her in full. And it eased her to see that, though he was once a templar, he no longer felt the same way he once did about mages.

Amallia realized it was well into the night before they finished. She was terribly tired but wanted at least one mug of ale before heading to bed. In a daze, she realized too late once again that Josephine and Leliana had scurried out of the war room ahead of Cullen and herself.

In the long hall, she trailed him, waiting to see if he would say anything. When she saw him go for the handle of the door to Josephine’s office, she spoke before he could reach it.

“In a hurry,  _Commander_?”

Cullen turned to her and blushed. She had not called him “Commander” to gain his ire. The tone in her voice conveyed a very different message.

His grin tugged the right corner of his mouth. “ _Inquisitor_ ,” he said softly with a deep voice and a slight bow of his head.

_He will be the death of me, I swear._

“Off to bed?” he asked her.

She mulled the thought over a bit, truly needing sleep, but also terribly wanting a night cap. “I believe so.”

He nodded. “I am exhausted, too.” His hand went to the back of his neck and rubbed, head tilting to the side.

She wanted nothing more than to kiss him right then, but decided against it. “I have some business to discuss with Josephine before I head up. How about dinner together again tomorrow?”

He nodded. “Tomorrow.”

Through the door they went, and Amallia stepped down the stairs to speak with Josephine. She watched Cullen as he continued through the far door and it shut softly behind him.

Josephine eyed her suspiciously. “You were in there by yourselves for a bit.”

Amallia looked to her with equal suspicion. “Well, it’s not like we sprint out of the room right after the meeting is done like you and Leliana do.”

Josephine laughed. “It seems you are more perceptive than we thought, although it was silly of us to expect any less of you.”

“Oh, so you’re doing it on purpose then?” Amallia folded her arms across her chest as she neared the desk.

“It is quite apparent that the Commander is taken with you, and I dare to venture a guess that you are at least mildly attracted to him,” Josephine said as she stood and came around to the front of her desk

“I …” Amallia began and then sighed. “Of course I am. How could I not be? Have you looked at the man recently?”

Josephine nodded in agreement. “Oh yes, he’s easy to look at.”

Amallia shrugged. “And that’s only part of it. He treats me like a whole person. Not just a mage. But, I don’t know, Josephine. I don’t want this to endanger the Inquisition. I don’t want anyone questioning our choices. The consequences of being with him could be disastrous for the Inquisition.”

Josephine gave a  _tisk_ of her tongue at that. “Follow your heart in this one, Mal. For all of us.”

It wasn’t an absurd notion but the Inquisition was still far too important to risk. At least, that was how Amallia felt. “Good night, Josephine. Thanks.”

Josephine nodded in acknowledgement and headed back to her desk as Amallia took her leave. Cullen was nowhere to be seen in the great hall so she took the opportunity to spend an hour at the tavern with a drink and tales from Iron Bull. The hour seemed to pass in a blurry rush, and she found herself heading back to her rooms, eager for sleep.

* * *

 

Cullen watched from the ramparts, unable to sleep while thoughts of her warred in his head with the ache for lyrium. The thought of being with her was threatening to compromise his integrity and he did not want that for the Inquisition. But whenever he was in the same room with her, or even remotely within eyesight of her, he could think of little else.

At times he caught himself thinking inappropriately about Amallia. When they stood at the war table, she always stood directly opposite of him so whenever he looked at the map, he could see her thighs at the edge of his vision. Oh, how many times had he almost reached out to touch …

He groaned to himself at the thought and quickly tried to put it out of his mind. She seemed to not want anything to do with him in  _that_  way and it felt wrong to think of her as such. At least, that’s what he thought until earlier that evening when they had eaten dinner together.

 _But it was just dinner, nothing more_.

And yet, he remembered her sitting across the chess board from him, leaning over the edge of the table right under her breasts. He remembered staring as she planned her moves out, hoping she wouldn’t see him leering.

With a disgusted sound he returned to his office, climbed the ladder, and attempted to go to sleep. It took far too long, but when he did finally fall asleep, it was filled with nothing but dreams. Amallia, completely bare, lying on his bed, writhing beneath his naked body as teased her, kissed her, touched her. He heard his name on her lips and shivered, wanting to hear more.

Everything he wanted he took in his dream and when she touched him, he startled awake. The sweat soaked sheets pulled at him, sticking to his skin, and he felt a hardness between his legs that was so uncomfortable, he thought to finish it then. But when he reached for himself under the sheets, the images of his dream flooded his mind and he recoiled as though he had touched fire.

He did not want to think of her like that, like something to be used for his pleasure. He rolled over to his stomach with a curse and tried going back to sleep. And the dreams immediately returned. Amallia had pinned him to the war table, the markers scattered across the floor. While still entirely clothed, she was straddling him and grinding her hips against the length of his erection. He rolled his hips in return, grinding against her core.

He growled in frustration as he pushed the dream aside again, finding himself rutting against the mattress. Each time he attempted to go back to sleep, the dreams returned and he was left with such a painful tightness in his erection, he knew he would never get to sleep unless he took care of the problem.

He rolled onto his back and tore the sticking sheets from his body, hoping the night air would cool him off. With both hands, he reached down and grasped the shaft in his right, cupping himself with his left.

Slowly, he began stroking, thumb rolling over the crown of his cock with each upward motion. He couldn’t keep his thoughts reigned in …

_Amallia was there with him, grasping him. He moaned, wanting more and he thrust his hips into her hands. She was completely bare, crawling atop him. She leaned down to kiss him, her tongue parting his lips. He moaned against her and she swallowed his pleasure._

His mind ran wild with the vision as his strokes came faster and harder. The tightness in his balls enflamed and he cursed loudly as …

_Amallia pressed her sex against his erection, her arousal spreading over him as she rolled her hips. She was upright atop him, cupping her breasts as she teased him. With one hand, she reached down between them, gripped him, and centered the crown of his cock against her entrance._

" _Amallia!”_

With a soft twisting motion, he gasped as the tightness released, erection twitching with his orgasm as he came. The vision lingered momentarily before disappearing and he was left with the results of his pleasure on his chest and stomach.

Shame and disgust enveloped him knowing that he had used Amallia in such an unsavory way. He rolled from his bed with a sigh as he searched for a linen to clean himself. His wash basin was still full of water from that morning and he used it and a small cloth to rid himself of his embarrassment and returned to bed. Within a minute, he was soundly asleep.


	7. Camping and Caught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Off to the Shrine of Dumat, and a couple mishaps occur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly nsfw near the end.

Amallia awoke the next morning with a breakfast tray on the bedside table. Normally, she did not eat breakfast, so she inspected the tray carefully, eventually finding a folded note with her name written on it in a sharp, slanted hand.

_My Dearest Amallia,_

_We will be leaving for the Shrine of Dumat today. I did not want us to depart on empty stomachs. Josephine would not appreciate the both of us disrupting her again as she prepares us for our departure. Please, let me know if you need anything else. I will be accompanying you on this mission and wanted to tell you first hand. I made the decision late last night after our meeting. I very much want to help you with this task seeing as that I bestowed the responsibility on you in the first place. I would sleep better if I knew I would be at your side._

_This means our dinner will be postponed until a later date. But, we must do it again. It was far too enjoyable. We can discuss it after we return from Samson’s camp._

_Yours,_

_Cullen_

Amallia was surprised she was saddened by this news. She was looking forward to spending time with Cullen and learning more about him. She looked to the tray of food to find fruit, biscuits with honey, a slice of warm ham, and water. She savored every bite.

She dressed quickly, taking the note with her, and headed down to the war room. Leliana and Josephine were already there. She slipped the letter into her back pocket, not quite fitting. A corner stuck out from the top of the pocket.

She heard the door open as Cullen entered the war room, but a distinct silence told her that he had stopped moving. When she turned over her shoulder, she caught him staring at her, at  _his_  letter tucked tightly into her back pocket. He looked as though he had hardly slept, hair a little disheveled, and his fur mantle slightly crooked on his shoulders.

“Good morning,  _Commander_ ,” she said loudly.

Cullen blushed brightly as he slammed the door shut in surprise at Amallia’s greeting. “Good morning,” he mumbled as he rounded the table to take up his place in the center, opposite Amallia.

She grinned at him wickedly as she slipped the letter from her pocket. He watched her intently. She turned to her left, away from Josephine and Leliana, both of whom were huddled to her right, discussing a document that Josephine had brought to their attention while waiting for Cullen to arrive.

She took the paper, folded it once more so it was quite small, and slipped it into the opening of her shirt near her collar, right into her breast band. She turned back to face the table and tried to hold in a laugh as Cullen sighed heavily, both hands on the table as he leaned over.

“Commander, please tell me you have not forgotten to eat again,” Josephine demanded.

Cullen cleared his throat. “I am fine, Ambassador, thank you.” He ran a hand through his hair before straightening.

“Right. Well. You’ll both be leaving today for the Shrine of Dumat. Please, don’t forget to eat while you’re away,” she admonished.

“Yes, mother,” Cullen chided. Josephine smiled in response.

They discussed the finalizing details of the mission before dismissing the meeting. Their horses were ready at the gate with Dorian, Cassandra, and Varric already mounted up. Cullen and Amallia joined them, ensuring they had everything they needed for the trip. Once settled, Amallia set off at a trot and her companions followed.

* * *

 

A week of travel passed uneventfully. The small group allowed for quiet conversation and Cullen found himself seeking Amallia’s company most often. When she was preoccupied with anyone else, Cullen forced himself to keep his distance lest he be too obvious. Most of all, he did not want Amallia to become uncomfortable around him.

When Amallia was in heated debate with Dorian, Cullen saw to their plans establishing camps along the route to the temple. By the start of the second week, they had made it half way to the shrine and set up a major camp, clearing out a large area of the forest for their standing tents where they would leave behind part of their forces, stationed for future missions.

Within an hour, they were eating dinner and regaling one another with stories of their pasts. Most soldiers were so intimidated by Amallia, they refused to join the small group in their conversation, most begging off for sleep as they had watches soon. So the five of them circled the campfire, lounging back on logs from trees felled for the camp.

Once again, Cullen found he could not pull his attention away from Amallia. When she spoke, she was incredibly animated, describing stories as though they were legendary folktales that everyone knew. Ale skins were passed around and eventually, Cullen suspected Amallia was somewhat inebriated. She grew louder over the hours and more animated, if possible. He stared at her openly, hoping no one would notice – given that everyone’s attention was already glued to her, he determined he was safe.

The orange firelight cast half her face in a soft shadow, and her hair was nearly black in the dim light. But her eyes were still the same icy blue he remembered staring him down across the war table the first day they had met in Haven.

Love at first sight was a ridiculous notion, Cullen dismissing it outright. But in the moment had first set his eyes upon hers, he knew  _attraction_  at first sight was the Maker’s truth. As he continued to watch Amallia, the memories of Haven rushed to the front of his mind. When she had sacrificed herself to save everyone in Haven, Inquisition be damned, he thought his world was falling apart. And even though he had found her nearly buried in the snow on the side of a mountain, he feared that the cold had already taken her from them. From him.

Reality crashed down upon him when he found himself still staring at Amallia and she was miming the most perverted thing with her hand and her mouth that he had ever seen. Varric was rolling in the dirt with laughter, Dorian doubled over, and Cassandra was blushing yet laughing through her hand that covered her mouth.

And then Amallia looked directly at him, still miming, and it took every ounce of strength Cullen had not to imagine  _exactly_ what she was describing with such a motion. An ache bloomed in his abdomen and he was thankful for the dim firelight to hide his reddening face.

With his breath recovered, Varric announced he’d had enough stories for one evening and traipsed off to his tent. Dorian and Amallia had first watch, while Cullen would be taking second with Cassandra, who made her way for her tent. Varric would be last with one of the soldiers on their side of the camp.

As Cullen rose up from the ground, he was left standing in front of Dorian and Amallia, not knowing what to say. So with a curt, “Good night,” he turned on his heel and made for his tent. Once inside, he found nothing but frustration, unable to sleep while he heard Amallia and Dorian muttering to one another. He thanked the Maker it was Dorian with whom she was on watch. Eventually, he dozed as dreams of Amallia consumed him.

* * *

 

Amallia thoroughly enjoyed her time with Dorian, noting that she spent entirely too little time with the man. He was incredibly brilliant and an amazing mage, few rivaling his skill. They spoke of technique and power and sources. But Dorian had a specific question for her.

“Where did you learn to wield a staff?”

She was confused by the question initially. “What do you mean? I wield mine the same as you,” she gestured with a tilt of her head.

“No, not for casting. I’m referring to when you use it like a spear or a bludgeon. I’ve seen you do it on occasion and there’s a rumor floating around Skyhold that you beat your precious Commander senseless,” he said feigning a scandalized tone.

Amallia laughed into her hand, covering her mouth to remain quiet. “I did not! It was easily a draw. If anything, he won with the final … uh, strike. But yes,” she said as she fanned away the memory of sparring with Cullen away lest it distract her further. “I learned at the Circle in Ostwick. My Templar was an Antivan and once I’d passed my harrowing, he warmed up to me some. I asked him to show me how to use my staff like a real weapon, not just a channeling device. So the style is most likely Antivan, unless he picked it up elsewhere,” she explained.

Dorian yawned as he nodded. “Seems like a very practical application of the weapon. We should practice together, you could teach me. Ah, but I don’t want to cut in on your ‘sparring’ time with the Commander. He seems the jealous type,” Dorian joked.

“Oh, shut it, Dorian,” Amallia said through a yawn. “It must be late. I’m heading to bed.” She stood and made her way towards Cullen’s tent to wake him for his watch.

“I’ll be back for Cassandra in a moment, need to use the loo,” Dorian said as he headed for the latrine.

Amallia crossed the clearing of their camp swiftly. As she neared Cullen’s tent, she stopped short; his muffled voice emanated from his tent, sounding almost as if he were struggling. She was about to pull back the tent flap when she distinctly heard him  _moan_  her name. Loudly.

She gasped louder. That silenced Cullen immediately and she hesitated not a second longer, ripping back the flap and entering his tent.

Cullen shouted as he leaped from his cot, dragging a sheet with him and nearly knocking it over. Even in the low light of the lamp in his tent, Amallia saw his face turn a shade of red she didn’t think existed. He was breathing heavily, sweat glistening on his shoulders. There was something wet on his chest, and he was completely naked.

The tent grew uncomfortably hot in a matter of seconds and Amallia felt her own face warming. Maker, he was naked and she couldn’t move, frozen to the ground by the sight of him barely covered. All of the lines of his muscles drew her eyes downward to the sheet and she let herself gaze upon him. She squeezed her thighs together ever so slightly, hoping he would not notice the familiar ache between her legs. But he did, eyes drawn down to her hips, and his body responded.

“Oh, Maker, Mal,” he choked. “I … please, I …”

Her face felt as though it must match his for shades of embarrassment. Try as she might, she pursed her lips but the smile crept across them. She covered he mouth with her hand as she bit back her moan. But her eyes remained glued on him, unable to tear them away from his naked form silhouetted by the lamp light. Cullen buried his face in his free hand, still holding the sheet in front of him to shield his naked body from her.

Amallia had trouble speaking. “Your uh … your watch is up.”

He nodded. “I will be ready shortly,” he stated flatly.

She went to leave the tent, but turned back, daring to ask him a question. When she turned, she found him facing the other direction and she had a plain view of his entire backside. For a long –  _very­_  long – second, she stared, mouth agape.

“Cullen.”

He whipped around with a jump, not realizing she was still in his tent. He tried to gather the sheet up to cover his backside, but failed. “What?” he growled.

“Were … did you … I thought I …” She attempted to speak but paused with an irritated sound. “Did I hear my name before …” she trailed off.

If at all possible, Cullen’s face turned redder. She immediately regretted asking him the question and waved it off. “Never mind, I’m sorry, that was rude, I’m leaving,” she said as she turned and exited.

She came to a halt directly outside of his tent as she faced Dorian and Cassandra near the fire. The three of them stared for a moment, all in wide-eyed disbelief. Amallia cleared her throat before speaking.

“Cul … The Commander will be out in a minute,” she said softly and brusquely made for her tent. Once inside, she swore to the Maker she heard Dorian and Cassandra’s stifled laughter.


	8. The Shrine of Dumat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They fumble about the next morning on their way to the Shrine of Dumat, which turns out to be little else than a disaster.

The following morning was a disaster. Cullen found himself useless and avoiding any contact with Amallia and he could tell it was eating away at her morale. He did not want her to think for one second that she had done something to push him away. Quite the opposite, he was trying to distance himself for his own mental and physical health as well as for the sake of the Inquisition.

And they traveled like that for a week, Cullen avoiding her, out right ignoring her when possible. He hated every day until at last they arrived at the temple, giving them a much needed distraction.  

They had arrived at midday. As they neared, the smell of acrid smoke grew pungent. They could see the smoke rising over the trees not far off. The front gate appeared around a bend in the forest trail and the sight beyond revealed destruction. They dismounted and tied off the horses before entering the gate.

“This is it. The heart of Samson’s command,” Cullen noted.

Amallia was surprised he was speaking at all. “I don’t see him anywhere. Or hear him.”

“Nor I. Maker, tell me he  _hasn’t_ fled,” he spat.

Cautiously, Amallia walked through the gate and down the steps into the courtyard, surveying the damage that had been done. Smoke trailed lazily from several still burning piles of embers. But no magic had done this, she knew.

From the corner of her eye, she caught movement. “There!” she shouted, pointing to the upper level on the right side of the courtyard. A red lyrium construct lumbered down the stairs towards them. Looking behind her she found another.

“Cassandra, take that one!” she commanded, pointing to the construct behind her. A shimmery blue aura covered her as she thumped the ground once with the butt of her staff. And then she  _stepped_ , disappearing and crossing the width of the courtyard in an instant. She appeared behind the lyrium abomination in a flash for brilliant white light, hoarfrost encasing it.

In her left hand, a golden spectral blade flared to life and she slashed violently at the creature. Cullen joined her in seconds and together, they cut it down.

More lyrium monsters crossed the courtyard and set upon them. Amalli and her companions regrouped in the center, Dorian’s necromancy casting dark shadows, reanimating his dead assailants to fight for them. They pressed on, cutting down the opposition with quick work.

“Red abominations, again,” Amallia noted. She scanned the group before asking, “Everyone alright?” Each of the nodded, affirming. With that, Amallia lead them towards the main stairway.

She climbed the steps up to the temple, Cullen by her side and her companions in tow. The doors to the shrine hung open, one door off its top hinge. At the edge of the interior balcony, she could see everything inside had been put to the torch.

There were massive veins of red lyrium everywhere. It grew from the walls, from the floor, from the ceiling. It looked as though it had been there, growing, for decades.

“This place is already half destroyed,” she uttered.

Cullen nodded in agreement. “Samson must have ordered his templars to sack his headquarters so we couldn’t.”

“Sorry, Curly. Someone tipped off Samson you were coming,” Varric said with a sigh.

“I think you’re right. Still, we’ve dealt Samson a blow,” Cullen suggested, trying to make light of the situation. “Let’s see if we can find anything of worth left behind.”

They searched the outer room, finding little before heading to the rear chamber. They entered slowly, cautious of any straggling templars or lyrium constructs. Nothing showed itself. Amallia lead them down the steps but stopped when she heard a strained cough from the back of the room.

“There’s someone back there,” Cullen whispered.

“Follow me,” she ordered as she started around the left side of the monstrous red lyrium vein in the center of the room.

Around the corner of the vein she saw a young man lying on the floor, his back propped up against the far wall. As they approached him he looked up to her with glassy eyes, distant and unfocused.

“Hello, Inquisitor,” he said softly.

“You know me?” Amallia asked, cautious.

Realization dawned on Cullen. “It’s Maddox, Samson’s tranquil. Something’s wrong. I’ll send for the healers.”

“That would be a waste, Knight-Captain Cullen. I drank my entire supply of Black Cap essence. It won’t be long now,” Maddox said calmly.

Amallia sighed. “We only wanted to ask you questions, Maddox.”

“Yes. That is what I could not allow. I destroyed the camp with fire. We all agreed it was best. Our deaths ensured Samson had time to escape,” he said flatly.

Cullen glowered at him. “You threw your lives away? For Samson? Why?!”

“Samson saved me before he needed me. He gave me purpose again. I …” his voice faulted. “… wanted to help …” Maddox’s head slumped over, chin on his chest, unmoving.

Cullen bowed his head low, hand cradling his face. He turned to Amallia, resigned. "We should continue searching. Maddox may have missed something.”

Amallia motioned towards Maddox. “We should give him a proper funeral.”

Cullen nodded in agreement. “I’ll have someone take care of it.” He stalked off towards the door to search for anything helpful.

The rest of them assisted for as long as they could stand to, finding odd notes on half burned pieces of paper, books, and empty bottles of lyrium. A note on a table was addressed to Cullen. He read it over and Amallia watched as a grimace spread across his face.

“Does he think I’ll understand? What does he know?” he spat as he crumpled the letter and tossed it aside with a disgusted sound.

In Maddox’s room, they happened upon lyrium forging implements.

“These are remarkable,” Dorian exclaimed as he picked them up. “Whole, they’re worth a fortune.”

“Take them. Dagna should be able to make sense of them,” Cullen suggested. Dorian pocketed the tools for safe keeping.

Amallia sighed. “I think we’re done here. Let’s go.”

A deafening crash from the courtyard shook the entire building. They heard a distinct thump followed by an earth-scraping drag, then another thump.  _Krrrrrrch-thump … Krrrrch-thump … Krrrrch-thump._

Amallia headed for the courtyard at a run with Cullen and Cassandra close behind, Varric and Dorian in the rear. Once through the door and into the courtyard, they saw a giant red lyrium construct lurching up the main stairway.

“Spread out!” Amallia cried as she thumped her staff to the ground, covering them all in her shimmering blue aura. Cullen and Cassandra raced ahead, but before they could even come close to the monstrosity, she stepped, blinking away from the top of the steps and reappearing behind the giant.

Hoarfrost coated the creature but it did not slow. It lurched through the ice, breaking away easily. The golden spectral blade sprang to life in Amallia’s right hand and she slashed out repeatedly, staff whirling away bolts of fire in alternating attacks.

Cullen and Cassandra met the giant directly. In one sweep, he tossed them both to the side. Cassandra hit a wall head on, landing in a heap on the stairs, unconscious. Cullen landed on his shield with a crash and struggled to return to his feet. Dorian and Varric rained down necrotic shadows and crossbow bolts respectively as the giant pounded a large fist into the ground. A streak of red lyrium pierced the stairs, racing up to explode beneath Dorian and Varric, blasting them in opposite directions.

Cullen yet struggled to return to his feet. On one knee, he watched with frustration as the construct turned to Amallia. He clamored to regain his balance, scrambling towards the giant with determination. But there was no way he was going to reach it in time. He shouted, trying to gain the abomination’s attention to no avail. The giant club of a fist swung upward and caught Amallia square, sending her flying across the courtyard. Cullen shouted for her as his staggered step dragged him closer to the lyrium beast.

Most of her barrier had taken the blow but there had not been enough left to block it entirely. She landed and rolled, coming to rest in a heap. Dazed and unable to move, she watched as the giant turned on Cullen. Time seemed to slow as she scrambled to her knees. All she could do was stare as the giant slashed a razor sharp blade of red lyrium across Cullen’s chest. A gash rent the metal asunder and blood dribbled out. Cullen fell backwards, landing sharply on the steps. He tried to climb away from the giant who had raised a vicious red spike in the air intending to pin Cullen to the ground.

“Maker take you all!” Cullen shouted with his sword and shield raised.

Still kneeling, Amallia tossed her head back to down a lyrium potion. With her mana regained, she set her barrier and  _stepped_. In a flash of blinding blue light, she disappeared from her position, crossing the distance between her and the giant in the blink of an eye. She reappeared in another flash beneath the giant’s arm as it came rushing down towards its intended target. With her spectral blade in one hand and staff in the other she blocked its strike, reinforced by her magic.  

The giant fell back a thundering step, stunned. She attacked relentlessly, wheeling her staff and slashing with her spectral blade, assaulting it with fire. She blocked its strikes,  _stepped_ out of its line of attack, feinted, and parried. She had its full attention as she screamed furiously with each slash of the sword and every blast from her staff.  

Cullen could see she now had a clear upper hand in the battle and made quick work of the abomination. Within a minute, she struck a final blow with her ethereal sword, cleaving it in two from right shoulder to left hip. It crumpled to the ground in two distinct heaps.  

Exhausted, she looked to Cullen, laying on the steps with his back leaning against the wall. He gaped at her in awe.

She ran to him, transparent blade disappearing and staff forgotten on the ground. Kneeling over him, she saw blood pooling on the step below as runnels slowly dribbled over the edge. Both of his hands were pressed tightly to the gash in his breast plate.

She was inches from his face, his eyes unfocused and pupils blown wide. He gasped in short breaths, and she found his cheek cold to the touch. Fear inundated her and she struggled to remain calm. She was losing him. Unsteady, her voice cracked as she spoke. “Cullen, I have to look at it.”  

He nodded, still gaping at her. She pulled his hands away to find a deep gash six inches long. Blood started oozing out of it, slowly. She frowned as unbidden tears filled her eyes, obscuring her vision.

“I have to help you,” she warned him through a soft sob, tears streaking her face.

Cullen nodded insistently as he reached up to cup her cheek. Blood from his hand smeared across her pale skin. She tried to ignore his touch, but it pushed her over the edge. As she put her palms to either side of his face and closed her eyes, she sobbed relentlessly.

When Cullen was a child, he had once fallen through thin ice on the lake on which he had lived. It had been the coldest and most painful experience of his life. Lyrium withdrawals were a consistent ache, but the pain of plunging bodily into ice cold water in the dead of winter was unbearable.  

Amallia’s healing was profoundly worse. Cullen gasped sharply, his entire body seizing, eyes wide in shock. He could hear Amallia through the fog of sudden pain wracking him as though she were a mile away.  

“I know, Cullen, it’s awful. Please hold on.”  

Her sobs continued, echoing across the courtyard. She could not stand to see him like this, in pain, dying. Healing him was her only option, and while she wasn’t an expert in the craft, she knew enough.  

But Cullen was fading fast, darkness closing upon him from the overwhelming cold. He heard her again, calling out to him to hang on, stay with her, don’t go. He clung to her words, clamored for her warmth.  

The darkness lifted as swiftly as it came and he could breathe again. He sucked in a rush of air and slumped against the wall.

“Cu-Cullen,” she gasped through heaving breaths. “I am  _s-so_ sorry … I h-had to.”

His smile was weak. “You …” he tried to sit up straight, but his split breast plate made it impossible. He tapped at it then tugged at the neck. Amallia began unbuckling him. “You need some practice.”  

“Hopefully, none of that practice involves you ever again,” she retorted through her gasping. She slipped his furs, breast plate and tunic over his head. His brown under shirt hid the blood stain well enough. The wound was still not completely shut and it would need to be dressed, but at least he could breathe.

Cassandra was coming to near the top of the stairs. Varric and Dorian were slowly getting to their feet as well.  

“Maker’s breath, Mal. I had no idea,” he breathed.

She paused, confused. “About?”  

“I’d seen you fight at Haven, but not this closely. Seeing you here has put much of my fears to rest,” he rasped, breath still ragged.

“You worry about me?”  

“Every day. But now it will be a more reasonable concern,” he joked. She smiled in response, wiping away the tears from her face.

Varric, Cassandra, and Dorian slowly descended the stairs and gathered around them. “Thank the Maker, you’re alright,” Cassandra said.

“How about you, Cassandra?” Amallia asked. “I could heal you if you need it.”

She shook her head and winced. “No. I’ll be fine.”

“Varric? Dorian?” she asked as she looked to them.

“I’m quite fine, Mal,” Dorian sighed.

“All good here, Flash,” Varric jeered. Cassandra made a disgusted sound.

Cullen wanted to laugh but even the thought hurt. “Do I want to know the story behind that?”

Amallia shook her head as she said, “You have to live first, then  _maybe_ ,” she paused to glare at Varric, “I’ll tell you. Let’s get back to camp. You need this wound properly closed, my magic can only go so far.

Cassandra helped Cullen to his feet, his arm over her shoulder. "You owe us a story, Inquisitor. Explain how you cut down the giant on your own.”  

Amallia grinned as she looked to Cullen, a little color returning to his face. “Oh I will, but I think Varric may want to take notes on this one.”  


	9. Multiple Apologies

Another two weeks saw them back at Skyhold, arriving late in the evening. The return trip had been equally uneventful, and Amallia spent more time with Dorian, making good on her promise to teach him her methods with the staff. Cullen avoided her like the Blight, though she did not blame him. In fact, she felt horrible for having caught him in such a vulnerable state –intruding on his personal space no less – and made a mental note to apologize to him as soon as he was able to look here in the face without turning five shades of red.

Upon their return, Leliana and Josephine agreed that a meeting to debrief was not necessary and they could discuss the mission in the morning. The physician immediately pulled Cullen away. Over his shoulder, he looked back to Amallia for the first time in two weeks with a look of such profound longing, she nearly ran to him.

Instead, she turned away and headed to her rooms. Once there, she collapsed on her bed and wept. She did not want to speak with Cullen while he was under the influence of any sort of drug or potion. When she had cried out everything she could, exhaustion consumed her and she fell asleep. It was fitful and filled with nightmares. It did not last long, and within an hour she was awake again, hungry. The tavern seemed the best idea. She no longer wanted to be alone.

From the battlements, Cullen watched Amallia enter the tavern only to leave an hour later. With his wound properly dressed and healing quickly, he finally determined that it was time to get over his concerns and devised a plan.

* * *

 

Morning had come too quickly. Amallia wanted to continue sleeping, but forced herself up at dawn. Another breakfast tray was awaiting her with a note.

_Mal,_

_Please come talk with me when you find the time today._

_Yours,_

_Cullen_

She held the note as if it were sacred, clutching it to her chest and thankful that he had finally reached out to her. She dressed quickly, wrapped the fruit and biscuits in a cloth, shoving the two slices of ham into her mouth before heading down stairs.

The sun was barely peaking over the mountain tops when she knocked on Cullen’s office door. After a few short seconds, it opened and Cullen stood before her half-dressed and hair tousled.

“Mal!”

Shocked, she snapped her eyes over the castle wall to prevent herself from staring. “I’m sorry! I thought you’d be awake already.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him raise a hand to the back of his neck and rub. She dared not turn to look at him directly, but she could see a grin creeping across his lips. He also had a hand pressed where he had been slashed, white bandages wrapped around his chest.

“Give me a moment?” he asked softly.

She pursed her lips, covering them with her hand as she nodded vigorously and her eyes screwed shut. She dared not trust her words. With the door shut, she turned back to it, letting out a heavy breath as she opened her eyes.

Cullen was too smart. When he reopened the door, the only thing he had bothered to put on was the same undershirt he had been wearing when they had sparred, leaving his arms bare. His pants looked like they were about to fall off and he wore no shoes. He had not bothered to fix his hair, which she noticed was quite wavy, almost …  _Curly. Oh, Maker, now I_ have  _to explain what Flash means._

“I hate you. I hope you know that,” Amallia said jokingly.

Cullen smirked. “Please, come in,” he said as he gestured into the room with a slight bow.

Amallia sauntered in past him, giving him something to be distracted by in retaliation. As she set down her cloth bundle, she quickly shot a look over her shoulder and caught him staring. His face reddened when he saw he’d been caught, but he did not look away, only grinned his wicked grin further.

She turned back to his desk as he shut the door. She found his own tray of breakfast full of food. “I don’t get nearly as much. Wonder why they think I eat like a bird,” she thought aloud.

Cullen winced. “That … would by my fault.”

She arched an eyebrow at him.

“Well, look,” he gestured to the tray.  

She did, slightly confused. Fruit, biscuits, ham. Same as hers but about three times as much of it. Except …

“There’s a few pieces missing,” she noted.

He nodded, hoping she would figure it out on her own.

Her eyes brightened with realization. “You’ve … you’ve been bringing me breakfast?”

“Yes. Is that … silly? It feels silly, now …” he said with a grimace, sounding quite embarrassed.

Amallia ignored it. “You … went into my room … while–”

Cullen nearly jumped out of his skin. “No! Absolutely not! I brought the tray to your door and had one of the washer women bring it up.”

She sighed. “Good.”

“Mal, I may be a bit shy and clumsy and not very good with words, but I am no cretin,” Cullen teased.

Amallia scoffed. “Personally, I think you’re vile. All you have to do is stand near me and I lose any ability to concentrate. And for the love of the Maker, do you even have smalls on?” She squinted as she looked closer at his pants. She didn’t think his face could get any redder, but it did as he quickly brought both hands in front of him.

“Oh, give me a break, you did that on purpose,” she said as she popped a piece of fruit into her mouth and leaned against his desk.

He shuffled to the desk and sat in his chair, pulling the tray of food to him to eat. “Maybe,” he mumbled through a piece of honeyed biscuit. Amallia laughed her full, belly laugh as she followed him around his desk to lean against it. When she took too long to speak, Cullen broke the lingering silence.

“I’m glad you stopped by so early. I owe you an apology,” he started.

“No,” she interrupted. “You don’t. I  _absolutely_  owe you an apology. Bursting into your tent like that … I don’t know what I was thinking.”

A small, soft smile hooked the right corner of his lips. “Alright, we both apologize. The matter is settled.”

She grinned, her eyes snapping up to his. “Is it? Should I consider it a blessing in disguise that I sleep on the other side of the fortress?”

“Maker’s breath, Amallia. It was a moment of weakness, I swear it will not happen again,” he blathered until Amallia stopped him.

“Cullen, I was only joking,” she said with a laugh. “Whatever goes on in your head, it bothers me not in the slightest.”

Stunned, Cullen stared at her, mouth agape. She watched as he processed the thought; she had essentially given him permission to think of her however he pleased. And the look on his face was priceless. He had not the faintest clue how to handle the fact that she  _knew_  how he felt and was completely unperturbed by it. If anything, this furthered his embarrassment. She giggled to herself as the pink crept up his neck to color his cheeks again.

With a sigh, he reached for a report on his desk. “Can we talk about something else?”

She nodded with a short laugh. “Absolutely. What do you have for me?”

Cullen gestured with the paper. “Hissing Wastes. I wonder what’s out there that has the Venatori so riled up.”

Quick as a snake, Amallia snatched the report from his hands and read. “Something about tombs. Probably dwarven.”

“Hm,” Cullen wondered aloud. “I should like to see them.”

Amallia shot him a look. “No. You’re staying here. No more adventures, please,” she insisted, concern furrowing her brow. “You’re not even done healing from the last one.”

He frowned with a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Before Amallia could object, Cullen stood and embraced her in a bear hug, pinning her arms to her sides.

“Cullen, darling, I can’t breathe,” Amallia gasped.

He let her go, and she was saddened by the stricken look on his face. “I’m sorry, Mal. For everything that happened at the temple. It is my fault. I sent us there.” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

“Cullen, listen to me,” she said as she pulled his hand from his head, holding it in both of her own. She felt rough callouses from years of wielding a sword. Powerful, but deft and precise.

When the silence had stretched on awkwardly, Amallia finally spoke. “I am finding this hard to put in a way that does not endanger our abilities to make decisions as Inquisitor and Commander. But, know this. The Maker himself could not stop me from saving you, no matter how many times you got yourself into a ridiculous situation because you wanted to help me. I would willingly – lovingly, even – ride into the thickest of battles for you. I care about you far too much to let something happen to you.”

It took most of her willpower not to start sobbing again. Even the thought of Cullen dying in an effort to help her was unbearable. She tried to look him in the eye but failed, feeling the tears welling up again.

He embraced her, gently this time. With his arms wrapped around her shoulders, she buried her face in the crook of his neck and breathed deeply to steady herself. She held him to her tightly, arms wrapped around his waist. She wished she could never let him go.

Cullen was stroking her hair as she regained her composure. “Thank you, Mal. You don’t know how much that means to me.”

She laughed a little as she pulled from his hug. “No, Cullen, I think I do. If it’s anything remotely close to how I feel about you …” She left the thought unfinished.

“I suppose you do then,” he said with a smile. “Well, enough of that. I wanted to apologize for being a dolt, twice over, and I have. What’s done is done and I paid for it,” he patted his bandages as he spoke, returning to his chair.

“Agreed,” Amallia stated with a tilt of her head.

They continued talking well into the morning. The day could not have started better and she was glad that she had taken a chance on visiting him so early. But the day’s work beckoned them when a soldier –  _oh, Jim, that poor man_ – interrupted them. She took this as her leave to meet with Leliana and Josephine. When she shut the door, she could hear Cullen shouting at Jim for not knocking first.


	10. Night Cap

She was useless the rest of the day. Still exhausted, sleep deprived, and day dreaming, Leliana and Josephine had to ask for her attention constantly and repeat questions often. When she determined she was no longer useful in the middle of a debate between the two women, she made it a point to slip away from them unnoticed.

Given the late afternoon hour, she decided to venture to the library, seeking Dorian’s company to continue to make good on her promise. Much to her appreciation, Dorian wasn’t interested in practicing staff and was pleased to simply sit with her to talk.

“I’m quite glad you decided to visit,” Dorian began. “I was hoping you would soon. We don’t spend nearly enough time together.”

Amallia smiled as she took a seat across from him. “Agreed. Thus, I am here,” she said as she looked off to the bookcases, her smile fading swiftly.

Dorian watched her with scrutiny as she avoided his stare, eyes drifting out around the library. She picked at her fingers in her lap, crossed her feet at her ankles, uncrossed, and crossed them again. Dorian frowned. “Something is troubling you. Out with it,” he demanded.

She gaped at him, brow furrowing. “I’m … I’m just fine, thank you very much. I mean, yes the world feels as though it’s about to end, but other than that, nothing is really bothering me.”

“Alright,” Dorian said, smile returning. “Is something just slightly niggling at the back of your brain, then? Enough that it has you distracted all day?”

She glared, throwing a sideways stare at him. “Why do I always feel as though my friends are talking about me behind my back?”

Dorian shrugged. “Probably because we are,” he said with a quick laugh. “And yes, you’re guessing correctly in that pretty little head of yours; I’m the one that instigates most of it.  _Most_  of it.”

“I see,” she mumbled as she leaned forward, fingertips peeked before her lips. “And who, might I ask, instigates the rest of it?”

“Oh, you know.  _People_ ,” Dorian jested. “Well, just one person really, he won’t leave me alone. I’m surprised he hasn’t interrupted us already.”

“Does this person … ask of me often?” she asked.

He laughed brightly at that. “Oh, yes. And you’re no dimwitted fool, either. Don’t play dumb with me, love. I may be just another pretty face around here, but I know you’re no lout. You know damn well how he feels.”

Amallia sat back in her chair with a huff. “Yes. I do. That doesn’t make it any easier.”

“Of course it doesn’t, you’re the Herald of Andraste, the _Inquisitor_ , the savior of Haven, and slayer of demons and abominations alike. He leads your forces into battle,  _advises_  you, and is one of your few voices of reason,” Dorian rambled.

“Exactly!” she exclaimed. “All of that. That’s why we shouldn’t … can’t …”

Dorian quirked an eyebrow at her. “Shouldn’t what? Can’t what? Love each other? Comfort each other? Bed one another?”

“Dorian!“ Amallia scolded with a smile. "You – you know what I mean,” she stammered. “Of course I would love to have all of those things.” To her surprise, tears welled in her eyes. She sniffed, holding them back as best as she could. “But  _I_ cannot. There is too much at stake. Too much to risk. As you stated, he is one of my advisors and I must weigh his words equally with those of Josephine and Leliana. How could I possibly do that if I loved him?”

The exasperated look on Dorian’s face said more than words could. He rolled his eyes and then spoke. “Mal, you already love him. What difference would it make? You suggest that your judgment would be clouded, but it most likely already is. And you’ve not lead us astray once. Alright, maybe once, the Storm Coast was dreadful, but mistakes can be forgiven,” he quipped with a casual flip of his hand.

“It’s not just that,” she continued. “I … have very little hope of coming out of this alive.” The unshed tears fell freely down her cheeks. She had yet to speak with anyone about this. Her mortality was all too evident. If Haven had not driven that message straight home, she did not know what would. And the thought of loving Cullen outright, only to later abandon him in death seemed such a cruel thing to do. To what risk would it be worth endangering him, as well? She had witnessed firsthand how his life had been threatened and that had been because of her. How could she be so selfish as to think his life would not be further endangered?

A tender sadness she had seen from Dorian only once before replaced his grin. He stood and crossed the short space between them to kneel before her. He grasped her hands in hers and squeezed them tightly. “Amallia, you don’t know that.”

“Oh, please, Dorian, don’t belittle me, I’m not a child,” she sobbed.

“Then stop acting like one,” Dorian stated flatly. When she glared at him, he returned the look with admonishment. “Do not attempt to glare your way out of this one, Mal. You have quite literally no clue what will happen. The future we saw may come to pass. But it might not. We are here in this time and we can only do our best.”

“But, I couldn’t do that to him. How could I?” she asked as she wiped the tears from her face.

“Mal, what makes you think he would suffer any less by you not being with him? Again, you already love him. Do you not think he already loves you?” he asked with an eyebrow creeping towards his hair line.

“That’s …” Amallia started but paused. “That’s a really good point.”

“Ah, and we’ve come to the crux of the argument, wherein I am right, again,” Dorian sighed as he stood. He pulled Amallia out of her chair and embraced her in a hug.

“I suppose I have been quite stupid about this,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

“Yes, well, we all can’t be as brilliant as I am, but that’s why I am here,” he said with such a matter of fact tone, Amallia couldn’t help but laugh.

“Thank you, Dorian. So much,” she said as she released him. “I must get to the war room, we have yet to debrief on Samson’s camp.”

He grasped her hands again, with a single, tight squeeze. “You are most welcome, love.”

* * *

 

Amallia stood before the war table, mind clearer than it had been in days. She, Leliana, and Josephine stared at the map and its myriad of markers arrayed strategically about the canvas as they waited for Cullen to arrive. He was unusually late, but with the current load of new recruits, Amallia assumed he had been detained at training.

As she stared at the table, Dorian’s words replayed on a loop in her mind.  _Do you not think he already loves you_? She knew the answer to that, had known for weeks.

 _No, it has been months. Since the moment I first met him in the war room in Haven, I’ve known._ Her thoughts ran wild as memories of their working together flooded her mind. It was so obvious to her now that she was beside herself. The both of them had been so concerned about everything else around them, they had not once prioritized their own feelings ahead of the Inquisition. Every side-long stare, every brush of their hands as they reached for figures on the war table, every laugh, every sigh. She wanted to kick herself for not admitting it sooner and saving them both the trouble.

Her thoughts fled when the door to the war room burst open and Cullen stomped in, slamming the door shut behind him. She turned over her shoulder, watching has he crossed the room to stand opposite of her at the table.  _Equals. We are equals and nothing could ever ruin that. If anything, love could only strengthen it. Right? Oh, Maker, please tell me I’m right._

She stared at him across the table, his deep scowl slowly softening, slipping away as he locked eyes with hers. Warmth inundated her as a small smile curved the corners of his lips as he continued to stare into the icy blue depths of her eyes.

Leliana and Josephine watched intently, waiting for Amallia to speak. When it was apparent that the meeting would never start if neither of them said anything, Josephine cleared her through softly.

Amallia jumped as though she had been struck by lightning. “Ah,” she began. “Good evening. We’re discussing the recent mission to the Shrine of Dumat tonight as well as any new business.”

The meeting droned on for hours. They discussed the details of their mission to the Shrine of Dumat, Leliana offering up all she had learned through her connections after the initial exploration.  This resulted in little to no information other than what Amallia and her company had found when they had first arrived. Dorian had provided Dagna with the lyrium tools, but she had yet to learn much about them.

Well into the night, Josephine adjourned them and she and Leliana quickly left the room. Amallia watched them scurry away down the hall into Josephine’s office. When she turned to Cullen, he was rounding the war room table and heading for the door. Their familiar dance began once again.

Amallia followed Cullen out of the war room and down the hallway. He paused at the far door, shoulders heaving with a sigh. He turned to Amallia with a determined frown.

“I wanted to apologize for my tardiness earlier,” he blurted.

Bewildered, Amallia shook her head. “Oh, it’s not necessary,” she said with a wave of her hand, voice betraying her curiosity.

“I was speaking with Dorian,” Cullen continued.

She was unsure of where he was going with this train of thought. “Oh,” she responded. Heat crept up her neck to her face. Cullen’s eyes followed the trail of embarrassment and laughed softly. “What did you talk about?”

"Oh it was of no importance. Just asking for some advice. Heading to bed?” he asked.

He was so close, she barely had to reach out for his hand, but she found him reaching out as well. He took her hand in his, thumb rasping over the backs of her fingers.

“I think so,” she sighed. “I am still exhausted from the last few weeks. I just need a good night’s sleep.”

He nodded, seeming to expect this response. “Good night, Mal.”

“Good night, Cullen.”

They parted ways in the great hall. Amallia entered her room to find a fire already started for her. She undressed and slipped into bed. Several minutes passed and she had not yet fallen asleep. She tossed to one side and then the other. She cursed under her breath. By all rights she should have passed out after that last few weeks. But for whatever reason, sleep eluded her for an hour before she decided to do something about it.

She climbed out of bed, dressed and walked down to the great hall. A night cap would resolve the problem, she knew. Once through the main doors of the hall, she paused to inhale deeply. The crisp night air hinted once again at winter and the thought of seeing snow again for the first time outside of Ostwick thrilled her.

Slowly, she descended the main stairway, plodding softly down the stone steps. From the first landing, she glanced at the tavern to see the fogged orange glow of candles and firelight from inside. When she started down the second set of steps, she hesitated. Something was amiss. The yard was eerily quiet even considering the late hour. She took the last step cautiously, eyeing the door to the tavern as the fine hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood on end.

As she neared the door, the distinct lack of boisterous laughter and bawdy tavern singing set off all of her instincts. On her toes, she swiftly crossed the remaining space to the tavern door and laid an ear against it. When she heard the soft plucking of Maryden’s lute, she slowly opened the tavern door and passed over the threshold with a tentative step. Her eyes scanned the empty tavern, wary for a hidden assailant. Movement to her left caught out of the corner of her eye startled her.

Cullen was sitting at a table by himself.

The entire tavern was empty besides him, the barkeep, and Maryden. She saw nothing of Iron Bull, Sera, Cole, or the Chargers. The soft plucking of Maryden’s lute, the low candle light, and the hint of alcohol in the air was enough to make her dizzy. Cullen’s smirk sent shivers down her spine.

The scrape of Cullen’s chair against the floor as he stood snapped her out of the shock of seeing him. He approached her and grinned his wicked half-grin.

“Couldn’t sleep?” His voice was deep and low, like a distant rumble of thunder that thumped through her chest.

“No,” she mumbled as she averted her eyes, the warmth of embarrassment creeping up her neck. His stare was enough to weaken her knees, quivering, and she reached out for balance …

She found his hand reaching for hers. She gripped it tightly, relying on his strength to keep her steady. He motioned to his table with a tilt of his head. “Would you like to sit with me?”

She stared at him for a long moment before speaking. “Yes. I’d love to,” she said with a small smile as she hooked a wave of hair behind her ear.

“Wonderful.” He sounded breathless, almost as though he were relieved.

She sat across from the seat he had been in. He followed her moments later with two large tankards of ale and set one before her.

“Perfect,” she nearly purred as she lifted the mug and drank deeply. Cullen was dragging his chair around to the end of the table to sit nearer to her, but stopped. He stared as she continued to drink from her mug. She stopped when she saw his jaw had dropped open in amazement. When she set the mug down, it was half empty.

“I … didn’t know you even liked ale.”

She brushed her lips with the tips of her fingers, wiping away the foam. “Why did you get it then?” she said with a laugh.

Cullen’s eyes darted to the bar keep. “I didn’t, I asked him what I should do,” he whispered as he leaned closer.

“Oh. Nicely done,” she said as she clanked his mug with hers. “Thanks!” she shouted over her shoulder to the barkeep. He simply saluted her as he worried away at the already polished wood of the bar with a rag.

Cullen fell into his chair, less graceful than normal. “That was impressive,” he remarked, his half-grin returning.

“Thanks,” she quipped with her own smile. “I thought  _you_ were going to sleep.”

“Actually,“ Cullen started. "I owe you  _another_  apology. I lied.”

She gave him a narrow-eyed look with a quirk of her eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

“I’ve been watching you,” he said with a matter-of-fact tone.

She knew that wasn’t quite what he meant, but it was difficult for her to stifle her laugh. “My,  _Commander_ , I thought you said you  _weren’t_  a cretin,” she gasped in a scandalized tone, mocking him.

He thought for a second before recalling what he had said. “Oh, for fucks sake …” he mumbled into his hand, covering half of his reddening face.

“Cullen!”

“Sorry, that was rude.”

“No, I’ve just never heard you curse like that,” she said with a lilting laugh. “Don’t feel you must censor yourself around me, you should hear the conversations I have with Bull and the Chargers.”

Cullen groaned at that, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Oh, I can  _just_ imagine my embarrassment while listening to  _that_.”

She gave a hearty laugh, then took a drink. “Please, explain how you’ve been ‘watching me’,” she prodded.

He cleared this throat. “What I meant was that I’ve noticed you frequent the tavern. Even after you’ve told me that you’re going to bed.”

She winced. “Sorry.”

“Apology accepted, although it wasn’t necessary. I understand. There is so much going on with the Inquisition and so many eyes and mouths that will see and talk about … things,” he said gruffly. “It took Dorian convincing me to even attempt this to get my point across.”

“Dorian gives good advice,” Amallia noted.

Cullen agreed. “He does. I had the tavern cleared out for tonight. Bull helped, which expedited the process. Seemed like a decent plan.”

“It was,” Amallia agreed after a swig of ale.

They said nothing for a few minutes, listening to the sound of Maryden’s lute plucking away softly. Amallia was surprised that while she knew little about Cullen, sitting here with him was enough.  _As long as we survive Corypheus, we’ll have all the time in the world to learn about each other._

As Amallia’s mind drifted, Cullen took a swallow of his ale. Her eyes followed the motion, watching as he licked the foam from his top lip with his tongue. She stared as it slowly slipped, left to right, over the scar, pulling it tight.

Her lips parted, mouth slightly agape and Cullen grinned, happy to have finally befuddle her for once. Amallia quickly shut her mouth and looked down into her tankard, trying to hide her embarrassment in it.

“Thank you for doing this,” she murmured into her mug.

“Mal,” he began but paused with a frustrated scoff. “I don’t think there is a limit to what I would do for you.”

She looked up to him then, finding a small smile that brightened his eyes. She returned the smile in kind. Cullen attempted to hide his reddening face by drinking again, but only managed to begin choking on his beer.

Amallia leaned back in her chair. “Are you alright?”

He coughed once more. “Yes,” he choked out. “Fine.”

She drank again from her own mug and drained it. “Hm, it appears I am empty. Another, perhaps?” she said with a raised brow and a sultry side-eye at Cullen, no longer coughing. She stood and sauntered to the bar, hips swaying purposefully. She could  _feel_ his eyes on her, watching her stride. The thought of him gazing hungrily upon her as she did something as innocuous as walk set a heat roiling beneath her skin.

When she turned about with two fresh mugs, the sight of Cullen with his head in his hand and his elbow propped up on the table instigated a fit of giggles from her. He looked absolutely absurd, much unlike the commander of her forces, as he dreamily stared at her figure. But, as she returned to the table, she admitted that it was a pleasant look and she would like to see it on him more often.

She set Cullen’s mug in front of him with a forceful  _clunk_  as she sat down, bringing her drink to her lips. The sound roused him from his imagination and he stared at the mug before him, brimming with a fresh pour of beer.

“Mal, I …” he began but the words caught in his throat as he turned to her. Her stare locked onto his, icy blue eyes wide and searching. She wished she could read his mind, wondering at the thoughts tumbling through his head, at the words he couldn’t seem to muster enough courage to say to her. His lips parted as though he wanted to speak and yet, something, some  _thing_ held him back, reserved.  _Just say it, say it so I don’t have to,_ his eyes begged, brow twitching as his mind battled between the chivalrous and the perverse thoughts there.

He found absolution in the remaining alcohol left in his first mug, draining it. And he immediately picked up the fresh mug, drinking heavily. When he set the mug down, he covered his mouth, wiping away the foam. His stare remained focused on his drink, and Amallia worried that he was growing more uncomfortable by the second. She reached out to him, resting her fingers lightly on his wrist. His pulse raced wildly and she felt gooseflesh breaking out across his arm beneath her touch.

“Cullen,” she whispered. “If you would rather–”

“No. Please, stop. I’m–,” he stammered, faltered. Then, in a hushed whisper, “I’m afraid. Afraid of what I want.”

He echoed the all too familiar concern she had expressed to Dorian earlier that day. She knew, had known, for months how Cullen felt about her. But she would have never guessed in a million years that he had the same concerns about those feelings as she did.Admittedly, that had been a silly notion considering the man in question. Of course he would have reservations in regards to  _her,_  the flaming Herald of Andraste, the Maker damned Inquisitor. She knew that, in his eyes, she was as near to a holy figure given human form since Andraste herself. And that terrified him as equally as she enthralled him.

“What  _do_  you want?” she dared ask.

His eyes returned to hers and the ache, the longing for him that she had harbored for so long, broke free of her control to run rampant through her veins. Her head spun, the room tilted dizzyingly, and her boldness took over the reins of her speeding heart.

“I’d rather not say,” he whispered to his mug, eyes averted as his cheeks colored.

Fearing he would lose his nerve, she stood. She saw every muscle in his body tense as she rose from her chair. She pondered a second before deciding to do something for herself – for the both of them – for once.

Amallia laid a hand on his chest softly, pushing him back in his chair. She heard the hitch in his breath, catching in his throat at the sudden  _press_  of her hand on the muscles of his chest. With nimble quickness, she slipped her left leg over him and planted herself firmly on his lap, straddling his hips.

“Might it be this?” she asked him quietly, tentatively, hoping to the Maker that she had not pushed him too far.

Cullen, for all the strength and courage and bravery he showed on the battlefield, looked like a spooked cat. His hands and arms were raised just above her legs and his wide-eyed shock stared first at her face, then at her breasts. He turned to look over his shoulder before he realized there was no more music and the barkeep was gone. The tavern was completely empty aside from the two of them.

Amallia put a hand to his cheek and turned his head to face hers. “Start talking, or I’m getting up.”

“Make, you’re beautiful.”

Warm, strong, gentle hands settled on her hips and pulled her closer. His grin  _finally_ returned. That Maker damned smirk of his was plastered to his face.

“Cullen—“

“Mal, I want you.”

She gaped. “I’m … I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

“You asked me what I wanted. I want you.” He pulled her closer, impossibly close, until she could feel the warmth of him …  

_Is that … oh!_

A small gasp slipped past her lips as Cullen rolled his hips against hers. Her world was toppling over, spinning relentlessly. Hot tendrils of fire licked at her skin and a powerful desire ignited in her belly.

She was inches from his face, his breath hot on her lips. His chest heaved in anticipation, and she could feel the  _thump_ of his heart beneath her fingers as though it was about to leap from him. His fingers dug into the thickness of her thighs, pulling her closer, if possible. She slipped her hands up past his collar, along the back of his neck and into his hair and pulled.

Her lips crushed his,  _pressing_  together with such force their teeth clicked. He returned the kiss with equal passion, eager to finally taste her. Her breasts pressed maddeningly tight against his chest as his hands creeping up under the back of her tunic, and her tongue tasted the sweet and sour tang of ale on his. Months of frustration and tension fled as she melted into him, lips and tongue taking from him everything she needed to satisfy that lust.

He moaned her name against her lips and it sent a shower of sparks down her spine. He clawed at her skin leaving pink trails in their wake. She pressed into the kiss, harder, rolling her hips against him and she felt the swell of him beneath his breeches growing harder.

Amallia was not unfamiliar with her own body, nor the bodies of men. It was a pleasant surprise to find that Cullen was also not unfamiliar in the same way, because his hands did  _everything_  right. From beneath her tunic, she felt the rasp of his calloused fingers slip down until they were into her leggings and  _squeezing_  so tightly it almost hurt. The briefest moment of pain rushed into a wave of heat, consuming every inch of her and she moaned against his lips.

As Cullen pulled back from the kiss, he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth and let it slip from him with a soft  _pop._ She licked her swollen lips, taking in every taste of him left, wanting more. His were pink and swollen, too, the scar taught and white, stretching further with his grin.

“Well?” she asked.

He stared, not understanding her question.

“Do you want me like this?” she repeated.

Cullen sighed in such frustration it sounded more like a growl, and he gripped her ass tighter, pulling her closer if possible. “No. I want you somewhere private, with locked doors, so I can know you, learn every inch of you.” He dove for her neck, trailing kisses along her jaw down to her collar bone and further into the opening of her tunic. White hot tendrils coursed through her entire body from the tops of her breasts.

She hissed a sigh as she pressed his head to her chest. Her fingers buried in his blonde waves, fingertips firmly rubbing his scalp. “Cullen, we should go.”

He wasted no time, standing up from his chair, holding her to him by her ass. “Where to?” he asked as he continued to nuzzle her neck.

She barely heard the words and was considering having him carry her to wherever it was he wished to go. “I should walk, wherever it is.” She heard a distinct whimper escape him as he set her down. “Just a minute.”  She grabbed their unfished mugs of beer, went around behind the bar and refilled them. When she returned and handed Cullen his mug, an unsure frown creased his lips.

“Are you sure—”

“You don’t have to, I wanted more,” Amallia said and then took a swig from her mug.

Cullen peered down into his and shrugged. “Eh, why not?” With a heft of the mug, he saluted her and drank as well.

She smiled at that. “I didn’t know you liked beer, too,” she commented as she made for the door.

His eyebrows raised, questioningly. “You have no idea.”

Amallia opened the door, laughing fully at his response. The chilly night air drifted in, a welcomed refreshment to the stuffy tavern. Being even remotely near Cullen sent her mind racing and her body aching with longing. Now that they’d at least broached the subject a bit further, the ache was overwhelming and she was grateful for the cold breeze.

As they crossed the yard without haste, Cullen cleared his throat. “Can we … slow down? I’m …” he paused with a disgruntled sigh. “I don’t know how to ask that nicely without sounding as though I am turning you down,” he groaned.

Amallia’s small smile quirked the corners of her lips as she slipped her hand into his, fingers entwined. “Tell me,“ she thought for a moment. "… tell me about how much you like beer,” she suggested as they neared steps to the great hall.

He laughed before taking another drink. “Absolutely.” They started up the steps. “Let’s see. Well, my father liked brewing his own beer. He showed me a bit before I’d left for the Templars. I think I could do it again on my own if I tried. Small batches though, nothing like the tavern does.” They climbed the steps together, side by side.

Amallia was grateful for the distracting conversation. “Oh, will you show me? I’ve always wanted to learn, ever since I was little.” She looked into her mug. “Not exactly the most ladylike of pursuits, though.  Especially for a noble family, so I never did.”

He gave a sideways glance to her and nodded. “I would love to show you.” He slipped his fingers from her hand and wrapped his arm around her back, hand resting on her hip. Cullen was happy to find that she had slipped her arm under his and tugged on his waist, pressing him closer to her.

They reached the top of the steps and entered the empty hall together. It was dark, the dwindling fire in the hearth and the candles providing little light.

Cullen stopped in front of the door to the rotunda. He looked at it, frowning.

“Something amiss?” Amallia said when she saw his face.

He turned back to her and simply stared, losing himself in the blue pools of her eyes again. His golden hawk-like stare threatened to turn her legs into water. He pulled her closer, turning to face her,  _pressing_  against her.

“I don’t want to go to my room,” he said softly as he wrapped both arms around her. She reached up over his broad shoulders and wrapped hers behind his neck.

“You don’t have to,” she said with a coy smile as she motioned to her door with a tilt of her head. The angle exposed her neck again and it took the last ounces of willpower Cullen had left not to take her on the table behind her. He moaned softly, head nuzzled against her neck. Brushing his lips against her skin, he trailed kisses up to her ear and whispered.  

“Please?”


	11. Practice (Of a Different Sort)

_Maker’s breath, everything he does threatens to unravel me to the floor._  With that thought, she parted from him and took him by the hand to her door. Amallia entered first, pulling Cullen behind her. He went to close the door himself, but she pushed him back against it, forcing it to slam behind him. She leaned against him, bodily, her chest pressing hard against his, and she could feel the heat of him through his shirts. She was ever so glad he had at least taken the time to remove his furs and armor before heading to the tavern.

She felt a twitch of tension through his breeches and she smiled up at him with hooded eyes. “Excited?”

And his amber gaze was all the response she needed, dark and full of fire. A low rasp of a sigh escaped him as he pressed a hard kiss to her lips, his free hand buried in her purple waves. His tongue pried at her lips and they parted for him easily, invitingly. She tasted sweet and warm, with the slightly bitter tang of ale lingering. He wanted to keep kissing her, forever, but she interrupted the thought with a suck of his bottom lip, and a slight nibble before releasing as she pulled back.

She bit her bottom lip in response, aching to have more. “I promise that it’s far more comfortable upstairs.”

He smiled, fully. She took his free hand and he used the opportunity to drain the rest of his beer. Up the stairs, Amallia found the embers in the hearth dying down and took the time to stoke them back up, leaving Cullen near her desk. He set his empty mug there and looked about her room.

“I don’t have a couch.”

Amallia turned from her task at the fire, which was now back up to crackling flames. She considered the couch, then looked to Cullen. “I hardly use it,” she said dismissively as she continued stoking the fire. Satisfied, she rose and drank from her mug.

“Would you  _like_ to use it?”

Cullen was staring at the couch intently, thinking deeply. Amallia drained the rest of her ale and walked to her desk to set the mug down. She turned back to Cullen, leaning against the desk, almost sitting on it with the edge right beneath her bottom. “My, Commander, what _ever_  did you have in mind?” she breathed with a slight moan.

His smile widened at that, and he shrugged casually as he turned away from the couch. “Oh, several things. Although …” he trailed off, eyeing her desk. Back straight and head tilted to the side, he considered it further as he neared it. He rounded the corner to stand by her chair, lightly dragging the fingertips of his left hand along the ornately carved edges. “Your desk is also much nicer than mine.”

She had to hold back a laugh. Without turning, she spoke to the ceiling, “Is that because it actually  _is_  a nicer desk, or are you simply enjoying its accoutrements?” Amallia leaned forward a bit, hands on her knees and back arched.

Cullen’s face flushed again, bright pink about the nose, and he was thankful she was turned away. But his words betrayed him again. “I – uh … must be the accoutrements.” He said it so softly Amallia barely heard him.

He turned to her bed looking for a distraction. “You truly are the leader of the Inquisition. Look at this bed …”

She saw him standing next to it but she hadn’t heard him move _. Swift, silent, and deadly. Like a giant cat …_

“Is it better than yours?” she asked as she stood from her desk.

“Well,” he said as he sat on the edge of the bed, “I could show you. Another day, perhaps.”

“Another day,” she bowed her head to him.

And then Cullen did the silliest thing she had ever seen the man do. As if testing the mattress in comparison to his own, he gave it a bounce, once, then twice, and nodded. “Yes, much nicer than mine.”

Amallia couldn’t help but laugh loudly. He joined her and it sent her into further fits of laughter that she could no longer control. His laugh was intoxicating and it renewed her longing for him. She crossed the space between the desk and the bed, stopping before him. He stood and reached out as she neared him, wrapping his arms around her waist, hers behind his neck.

Even though the desire to have him all to herself right at that very moment was coursing through every inch of her body, she couldn’t help but simply stare into his eyes. Soft and inviting, charming. Golden amber that reflected the firelight perfectly.

Cullen lifted a hand to her cheek, lightly rubbing his thumb along the arc of her cheek bone, past her ear, and then slipped his hand into her hair from the nape of her neck. Her hands were already buried deep in the thick blond waves of his hair, finger tips and heels of her palms rubbing in small circles. She watched him closely as all the tension of the last few months slowly bled from him. His shoulders relaxed and his head rolled to one side, cheek turning into the palm of her hand. He breathed deeply, taking in her scent, a mix of sea salt, pine, and the yet lingering sour tang of beer. It was perfect.  _She_  was perfect …

“I love you.”

She thought she had imagined it. Cullen spoke up when she did not respond.

“I’m sorry, that was unnecessary,” he said as he broke from her stare, embarrassment plain on his face.

“Cullen,“ she began as she lifted his gaze back to hers. "Here’s my last bit of sarcasm for the night, I promise. Did you just say what I think you said? Because, I’m pretty sure I heard it, but I’m not positive, I might need you to say it again, a little  _louder_ this time, don’t be afraid to get close.” She turned her ear to him and tapped it lightly, grin spreading across her lips.

Not missing a beat, Cullen leaned into her as he pulled her to his chest, one hand at the small of her back and the other in her hair. His lips brushed her ear, breath warm and soft as he whispered.

“I love you.”

She hesitated in a fit of arousal, sucking a gasp through her teeth for a second. She turned to his ear, touching her cheek to his and relishing the heat of his skin on hers.

“But I don’t even know your favorite color,” she whispered with a giggle.

Cullen gave a snort as he pulled back from her, a look of feigned admonishment on his face. “First, it’s blue, and second, what happened to no more sarcasm?!”

“Oh, sorry. Forgot,” she said with mocking sympathy and a coy shrug. “What _ever_  shall I do to make it up to you?”

At this, she guessed Cullen was done talking. He kissed her then, hand still buried deep in her hair. She wasted no time in returning his lust, kissing him back harder, her tongue parting his lips. His sweetness filled her senses again, washing over her like a tidal wave and carrying her away on the ocean that was his embrace.

The room started spinning as her feet left the floor. Cullen had her firmly by the ass with both hands and had picked her up. He was turning her back to the bed and with his strength –his arms, oh sweet Andraste, how his arms wrapped around her – gently laid her on the bed, releasing their prolonged kiss. He lowered himself onto her, keeping his weight on his hands. He firmly planted a thigh between hers, pressing against her core as she rolled her hips against him.

Amallia looked up to him and saw the most basic of urges coursing through him, something she was all too ready to please.

“I love you, too,” she sighed.

And with that, the urge she saw changed, ever so slightly different. Less carnal, more …. Personal. It wasn’t just that he wanted release, he wanted it with  _her_.

Cullen’s smile widened as he lifted a knee over her leg and shifted her further on to the bed with him. With the other well-muscled thigh grinding against her core, Amallia bucked her hips against him, reminding him of her intent.

She watched as his eyes traveled from her face to her tunic, already unbuttoned part of the way. She saw him stare at the buttons straining against her breasts and he bit his bottom lip as he reached out with one hand and  _popped_  the first button open. With more of her exposed, she could see his pulse quicken. The second button released, her breasts threatening to spill out from there as she breathed heavily.

The rest of the buttons came off all at once. Cullen was through with being patient and wanted the shirt gone. So he gave it a swift pull and the buttons of her tunic burst in all directions. Her breastband was also in the way and he tore it, exposing her to him. Her breasts spilled out, finally free, the pert nipples responding to the cool air immediately.

He leaned down over her, brushing a trail of kisses from her neck, to her collar bone, down the soft flesh of her left breast. She shuddered beneath him, moaning, hands buried in his hair. She hitched against his muscular thigh again, pressure building, swelling her cunt, soaking through her smalls.

She felt the wet sucking of his lips envelope her left nipple, his tongue swirling around. Her back arched as she gasped and called out his name. She had never imagined that his mouth –  _Cullen’s_ mouth – upon her flesh would feel  _this_ good, but it did. He sucked and swirled his tongue, moaning with her as she writhed beneath him. “Oh, Cullen,” she moaned. “Yes, right there.”

His left hand slid up from her hips over the flush skin of her stomach to her right breast, and he pinched the nipple there, rolling it softly between his thumb and first finger. She heard the soft wet  _pop_  her left breast made as he pulled away from her, sucking.

Immediately, he moved to the right nipple, sucking and licking while he pressed his thumb over the wetness of her left nipple. Nothing had ever felt this good. Amallia felt white hot sparks all over her body, so much it almost hurt. She needed him, needed the release he could give her and she wanted it now. With a handful of his hair, she pulled up, and her breast  _popped_  from his mouth again.

“What?” Cullen looked shocked at her sudden use of strength. She pushed him up by the chest and sat up with him.  

“I need to take this off,” she said as she tore her shirt from her arms. “And yours.” She gathered up the hem of his shirt and pulled it up over his head. He raised his arms obliging without question.

“ _Oh …”_

She had only seen Cullen without a shirt recently, and in poor lighting or with a bandage covering most of his chest. But now, she was mere inches from him, the new scar across his chest still pink. And true to his role, she could see he was an expert swordsman. Broad, muscled shoulders, arms, and chest.  _And his stomach … it’s as if it is directing me right to his pants_. She traced the lines of muscle from the top of his hip to the edge of his low-slung breeches, and she began untying them.

“Wait …” Cullen had grabbed her hand. “Just … a little longer?”

She laid back down, hands above her head, grinning. “Do with me as you will, _Commander_.”

Another growl and he  _pressed_ onto her, kissing the pale skin of her neck. The heat of his body against hers ignited her senses, lighting them afire with wild abandon. His lips dragged fiery kisses down her stomach to the top of her leggings, teasing her flesh. She kicked off her boots as he untied her pants with deft fingers, then tugged at each side. Amallia rolled her hips to help, bringing her thighs together.

She lay completely naked before him, arms above her head, one knee propped slightly over the other. He could see the supple curve of her ass, her muscled thighs, and the top of her cunt. He slipped his hand between her knees, parting them and gliding along her smooth skin. He found warmth and wetness at her core, ready for him.

He slipped his middle finger between her lips, parting them, sliding smoothly inside of her as deep as he could. She cried out a high pitched moan and slowly rolled her hips against his hand. He slipped in another finger, gliding them in and out of her. His thumb parted her lips and softly began circling her sensitive pearl.

She gasped, grabbing fist-fulls of the sheets above her head, straining against them and against Cullen’s hand. Eyes screwed shut, she could feel herself unraveling, and she would be undone before him soon.

A wetness met her cunt that she was unprepared for and she moaned again, a high pitched mewl.  _Oh, Maker, his tongue!_  she thought and her eyes popped opened to see only his blonde mass of waves nestled between her thighs. She squirmed beneath him, legs never stopping, thighs rasping against the stubble of his cheeks. She felt his tongue replace his fingers, thrusting inside her, then licking and sucking her lips, licking and sucking her clit in rhythm with her rolling hips.

Her moans and sighs came more frequently. All of the pillows had been pushed up against the wall behind the bed and the sheets were a rumpled mess from her writhing and squirming. She cried out his name, wanting more, yes, more,  _please, give me all of it, yes, more!_

An intense heat spread from her cunt, sending spasms all over her body as she came. She managed to grasp the top of his head in a handful of hair as the last of her orgasm rocked her hips against him. Within seconds, it passed, and the weightlessness of release consumed her.

He lifted his head and licked his lips clean, wanting to taste every last bit of her. She watched, biting her own bottom lip as he crawled up to lay next to her. He rested a hand on her stomach, softly rubbing her skin.

She turned to him then, smiling. “Your turn?”

Cullen was an odd duck. One minute, he seemed confident, but then the next he could be a bashful chantry boy. She supposed that to some degree, he still  _was_  that bashful chantry boy. He gaped at her suggestion and his words failed him again.

“I – um. That is … uh … if you …”

Amallia rolled over to him and gently pressed him to lay on his back, her hand splayed across the muscles of his chest. Heat anew blossomed through her body as she touched him. With a coy smile she began kissing him from the hollow of his collar, down the center of his chest, his stomach, right up to the edge of his breeches where she found the swell of his erection just below the strings. She teased him, rubbing the length of him with the palm of her hand through his pants. Two distinct thuds behind her told her that Cullen had kicked off his boots, eager for what was about to happen.

“Maker’s breath, you’re amazing,” she heard him mumble hardly loud enough for her to hear. Quickly untied, Amallia tugged at his pants and he arched his back. She reached under him, slipping his pants over his ass –  _very firm_  – and then down his front. His cock sprang forth, laying stiff against his abdomen and she was pleased with what she saw.

Pants discarded, Amallia took him in her right hand and squeezed gently, gliding up and down the shaft, thumb rubbing the juncture at the back of the head. Cullen had taken up a similar position as she had, arms above his head gripping the sheets tightly.

She brought her lips to the engorged head of his cock, touching lightly. A soft roll of his hips let her know he wanted it, wanted more. “ _Please,”_  he whispered, watching her.

Her tongue slowly slid from her mouth, gliding down the back of the head of his cock. She licked back up, making sure to tease the meeting of shaft and head. With the tip of her tongue, she lapped up the bead of his precome, lightly touching her lips to the tip of his head. She watched him, staring into his eyes as he watched her pleasure him. He bit his lower lip and wrenched a pillow in his hands above his head in anticipation.

"Mal, don’t–Oh!”

She took him into her mouth, interrupting him. She sucked until she felt him at the back of her throat, then withdrew half way. Cullen moaned loudly, part growl, part sigh, and his eyes shut tightly. She continued sucking, swirling her tongue around the head, right hand stroking the part of him she could not reach with her mouth. Her left hand cupped his balls, kneading softly.

She felt a hand slip into her hair and a throbbing in his cock as his whole body shuddered. “Yes, Mal, yes, please, more,” he urged her on, hips nearly thrusting into her mouth, hardly containing himself. After a few more seconds, Cullen moaned again, loud enough that she thought the entire castle would wake, and she felt his cock twitch heavily as his seed blossomed in her throat. She took all of him into her once more as he flexed and twitched, orgasm continuing. His moan tapered into a growl, the grip on her hair tightening. As she withdrew him, she felt the last twitch of his erection as it softened.

She licked her lips clean of him as she watched him ride the waves of his orgasm, knowing the weightlessness upon which he floated. He sat up to reach for her, grabbing an arm and pulling her up to him. She laid next to him on her side, tightly held against him with one leg draped over his hips and an arm across his chest.

She thought they may have been done, but Cullen had a very different plan. He reached between her thighs, finding her heat still wet and swollen. He rubbed the lips, massaging the peak of her sex through them. The warmth returned, spreading over her body. She hitched her hips against him and knew he wanted her to come again.

It took some time, but it was mere moments before she was gasping for breath, calling out his name again. “Yes, Cullen, yes, more, please, oh, please, yes!” If it was possible, the second orgasm was better than the first. She moaned loudly again, fingers clawing at his broad chest.

He kissed her then, deeply. She could taste herself on him still and she imagined he could taste the same on her. She tongued the warm cavern of his mouth, before pulling back. With the tip of her tongue, she found his scar and gave it a soft lick.

Cullen pulled back from her as he licked his fingers clean of her arousal. His wicked half-grin retuned as he took her hand from his chest and lowered it to his cock. It was fully erect again.

“Oh, Maker, can I take you?” Amallia pleaded with a moan.

He nodded vigorously. In response, she straddled him before he could object. Surprised at her eagerness to be atop him, he lay still. She grabbed both of his hands at the wrists and pushed them above his head. “Let me do the work, _Commander_.”

His eyes rolled back into his head as he closed them. “Now, there’s a rule here,” she whispered. He nodded to indicate he was listening. “You must do as I say.” He nodded again. “Good. Now I want you to lie as still as you can.”

She lowered herself against him as she released his hands and the heat of her sex brushed his swollen cock. He squirmed beneath her, trying not to buck his hips in response to the first touch. He bit his lower lip, trying to maintain control and a whimper of a moan escaped from him.

“Yes, that’s  _very_ good,” she said, teasing him.

Amallia rolled her hips, rubbing the full length of him with her wetness. Cullen opened his eyes to find her sitting straight up atop him, rocking her hips against him. Her hands had found her own breasts, and he gaped at the sight of her, at how positively scandalous she looked on him. He moved to touch her before he remembered, pulling his hand back as though had touched fire.

“That will cost you,” she said in a husky voice. He nodded in response again. She leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Beg.”

This time, there was no mistaking it; he  _growled_  at her. He turned his head to her ear and licked the lobe sucking it between his lips. He pulled, letting her flesh slip from his mouth and whispered to her. “Please.  _Please_ , Mal, I want you. Let me inside of you.”

The ache in his voice sent shivers down her spine. She leaned back, smiling at him playfully. He watched as her hand slid down her stomach to her cunt, slipping between them. Her fingers wrapped around his length, grasping him firmly. She leaned forward a bit, touched the tip of his cock to her swollen wetness, pressing against it. She held him there with the crown of his cock barely inside.

Cullen moaned again, straining not to move, wanting nothing more than to thrust deeply inside her. She watched him squirm, watched him fight the urge to take control. She ended his anticipation and lowered herself onto him, slowly taking him in her entirely.

They moaned together, Cullen a low, growling rasp, Amallia a high whining sigh. The smooth walls of her cunt flexed, squeezing at the sudden fullness of him in her. She raised her hips up once, stroking his length with her velvet folds, then lowered herself back down.

Cullen watched her rise and fall atop him, sitting straight up with her back arched in pleasure. She brought her right hand to her mouth, wetting her fingers with her tongue. His eyes widened as he watched her reach the same hand down to the top of her cunt where she rubbed her pearl, slowly, in rhythm with her thrusts.

He groaned again, wringing at the pillow above his head. She was moaning with each stroke, each roll of her hips as she gained speed.

“ _Yes, Mal, fuck me_.”

The coarseness with which he spoke sent a flash of heat through her body and she obeyed. She rode him, hips stroking up and down on his cock, thrusting faster and rubbing her sensitive bud harder. The soft walls of her sex flexed as she neared her release again, twitching against the length of his erection.

She slowed for a moment as she leaned over, threading her fingers into his hands above his head. She met his lips with a crushing kiss, tongue diving into his mouth to taste him. He returned her lust in full, straining against her grip and rolling his hips against her thighs. She thrust against him, grinding her mound on his pelvis to further her arousal. He writhed beneath her again, hips thrusting until he could control himself no longer.

He grabbed her by the waist and sat up. Amallia gasped as he grasped her by the ass, fingers dinging into her supple flesh. She wrapped her arms behind his neck, capturing his lips with hers in a searing kiss. He moaned against her as she hitched her hips once. Her turned them to the edge of the bed and stood to carry her to the large desk. With a sweep of his arm, he cleared one end of it, sending papers, books, and empty mugs to the floor.

Gently, he laid her on the desk with her hips at the edge. He grabbed her at the crook of her hips and thighs and  _thrust_ , deeply, for the first time. The ecstasy that his pounding elicited from Amallia was exquisite. It was unlike anything he had heard and he wanted more. He wanted to see her pleasure,  _hear_  her pleasure as she took it from him.

He thrust again, deeper, fingers biting into her tight thighs. Maker, she fit him like the perfect sheath, smooth and soft. He repeatedly thrust into her and she cried out for him. “Yes, Cullen, more _, more, fuck me, yes, more!_ ”

She could not believe how perfect he felt inside of her. His length was perfect and the girth more than enough to fill her. She bucked her hips against his thrusts, in rhythm with him as he set his pace. His hand had reached out for her left breast where he rolled the nipple in his fingers. She raised her knees up, thighs wrapping around him tightly to pull him into her.

She wanted him deeper and she knew he wanted more. As she lifted her left leg, his arm wrapped under it and lifted her to him. He thrust into her again and again, gaining speed until she couldn’t take it any longer. She was coming undone for the third time and it was euphoric.

She could feel him swell inside her, his cock pulsing hotter and thicker. She could see in his eyes he was nearing release again, hear it in his moans and the way he called out for her. “Oh, Maker, yes. Come with me, Mal,  _take me._ ”

She arched her back, wanting all of it, rolling her hips with his thrusts. He throbbed inside her, his orgasm upon him as he leaned over her. She felt him fill her, his seed spreading warm inside of her as his cock throbbed with each pulse and she came hard, harder than before, the folds of her cunt squeezing him inside of her.

They cried out their release together, as he thrust once, twice more before he could stand it no longer. Her sweat slicked body caught the light of the moon through the window and she saw the sheen of sweat across his muscled shoulders and chest as they heaved with his breath.

He picked her up and returned them to the bed where they lay entangled as they caught their breath, motionless but for their heaving chests.

He spoke to fill the silence. “I hope—“

“Cullen,” she interrupted.

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

He grinned his wicked half-grin as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tightly to him to touch his lips to her forehead. “ _I know._ ”

They lay there in quiet for several minutes before Cullen spoke again. “Can I stay here?” he whispered. When he heard nothing from Amallia, he found her fast asleep, head resting on his chest. He grabbed what he could of the sheets and draped it over them. He soon followed her, drifting off to sleep. For the first time in years, Cullen dreamed of nothing.


	12. Sleeping and Caught

From a million miles away, a repeated thumping intruded her sleep. Amallia ignored it. Her bed was so soft and warm and she had not slept so well in months. She breathed in deeply, smelling her sea salt and pine oils. When she breathed in a second time, she smelled leather as well, with a hint of musk.

The foreign yet incredibly familiar scent, coupled with the distant pounding, forced reality to crash upon her.

Her eyes snapped open to find Cullen lying next to her with an arm draped across her, just beneath her breasts, and a leg wedged between hers. Memory of the night before flooded her mind and she gasped loudly as she stared at her commander, so peaceful, face half buried in a pillow as he wheezed quietly through an open mouth.

The pounding returned. Someone was knocking on her door.

_“Inquisitor? Lady Leliana is asking for you, are you there?”_

_“_ Oh fuck,” she cursed loudly.

Cullen snapped awake as if he had not been sleeping at all. “What?! What’s going on?!”

The knocking came again.  _“Inquisitor?”_

 _“Oh forget it, Jim, just move,”_  she heard Leliana say.

Cullen huffed as he collapsed back down onto the bed. “Maker take that woman, I just want to stay here,” he mumbled and groaned into the pillow as he tugged Amallia closer.

Amallia wanted to laugh, wanted to melt into his embrace, but didn’t. “Cullen! She’s going to pick the lock on my door!” She could hear the metal scraping already.

“So?” Cullen asked the pillow.

Amallia scoffed in exasperation. “You’re just going to lay there  _naked_ , in  _my_ bed, wrapped up in  _my_  sheets, next to  _my_  naked body? You don’t think Leliana will–”

The door clicked open and she heard soft, swift footfalls on the steps, but not just Leliana’s. Josephine was right behind her.

As Leliana climbed the stairs, she saw a flurry of sheets between the rods of the banister and heard muffled laughter. With a full view of the room at the top of the stairs, she could not believe her eyes.

Amallia had pinched Cullen furiously until he had leaped out of her bed. He had managed to drag a sheet with him to cover himself, but had done so poorly. With one corner pulled up to his shoulder and the rest of it wound about the opposite leg, Amallia could clearly see him dangling behind the sheet. Leliana and Josephine could not. Barely.

Josephine, the absolute image of prim and proper behavior, gaped at him. Leliana, try as she might, could not contain her laughter. She looked to Amallia, arms around her knees pulled into her chest and wrapped in another sheet where she sat on the bed. Cullen blushed a brilliant shade of red.

When Leliana refused to stop laughing, Cullen, the Maker bless him, gave up all pretenses on retaining his dignity. He wanted his clothes and he was going to get them without stumbling on a blighted sheet. His fingers opened and the sheet fell to the floor in a heap. He made for the end of the bed where his pile of belongings had come to rest the night before.

Josephine gasped, but did not look away. Leliana cackled with laughter, doubled over. Amallia had never seen her laugh like that before and it was infectious. She started giggling, burying her face into her knees.

“Oh, for the love of Andraste …” Cullen groaned as he pulled on his smalls.

At that Amallia let out a bursting laugh, open-mouthed and obnoxious. Cullen finished dressing, came over to her side of the bed and slipped a hand into her hair are the nape of her neck. He kissed her deeply, ceasing her laughter.

Leliana, still giggling to herself, turned away politely. Josephine averted her stare by looking to her feet.

Cullen parted from Amallia and smiled. “Until our meeting?”

She nodded, grinning. “Absolutely.”

With that, Cullen headed for the stairs. He stopped near Leliana and Josephine, gave them a sweeping bow with a flourish of his hand, and then went down the stairs. Leliana’s laughter began all over again as Josephine blushed.

When she finally recovered, Leliana took a seat in front of Amallia on the bed. “When do you think you will make it to the war room?”

Amallia thought for a moment. “Just give me a few minutes.” She blushed, burying her nose between her knees.

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” Leliana said as she stood and made for the stairs, Josephine already descending. Before Leliana headed down, she turned back. “Cassandra may have a very interesting story to tell you when you arrive.” With that, she left.

Amallia slumped back in her bed, somewhat embarrassed but more so relieved. She had hoped to keep their relationship quiet, at least until they could close the Breach and deal with Coryhpeus. Now they wouldn’t have to go slinking about trying to steal kisses or sneak into each other’s rooms for the night. And if Josephine or Leliana found that Amallia was not considering her advisers equally, they would easily know why and would call her out on it without fear of making the wrong assessment.

She dressed hurriedly, remembering she had told Leliana she would be to the war room within minutes. Her stomach grumbled and she decided she would raid Cullen’s breakfast plate after their meeting.

She walked through the hallway to the war room swiftly, expecting to be the last there. As she reached for the handle of the door to the war room, she heard the other at the opposite end burst open and slam shut. She turned to find Cullen, completely dressed in armor and furs, hair tamed, and face freshly washed. His eyes brightened as he saw her, and he swiftly crossed the hallway to meet her with a kiss.

“Good morning,” she said as they parted.

“We’re about an hour shy of midday,” he stated with a smirk.

“Oh no, did we really sleep  _that_  long?” she asked, hand covering her lips.

He laughed. “No, I’m quite certain that it was near dawn by the time we fell asleep.” He smoothed a section of her hair, smirk curving into a wicked grin. “You may want to fix this though. You look as though you’ve just been properly fucked.”

She sucked in a breath at that. “Well, maybe I have,” she whispered as she hitched her hips against his groin. Cullen moaned deep in his chest, pulling her closer to him. “I’ll fix it later, I don’t care. And stop that!” she hissed as she slapped away his hand grabbing for her rear. “I can’t go in there all wound up, I’ll never be able to focus.”

Cullen held fast, grasping her hips, and kissed her on the neck. “As if you already aren’t wound up?” he whispered into her ear.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” she said with a breathy moan. “Stop it!“

He released her with a sigh. “Yes,  _Inquisitor_.”

She glared at him and, with a huff, opened the door and stepped aside for him to enter. Cullen walked through to find not only Josephine and Leliana, but Cassandra as well.

"So good of you to  _finally_ join us, Commander. Inquisitor,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Good morning, Cassandra,” Cullen said with a nod.

Amallia did not respond. Cassandra was her good friend, but she and Cullen were much closer friends. A nervous worry instantly sickened her stomach, thinking she may have crossed a line with the Seeker.

“And where were you?” Cassandra asked.

Amallia’s eyes bulged. “They … they didn’t tell you?” she asked with a squeak as she gestured to Josephine and Leliana. Josephine had the decency to look at least mildly embarrassed. Leliana  _giggled_.

“No. We looked for both of you this morning when neither of you came to the war room after breakfast. And Cullen usually trains just after dawn, but I noticed he was not there today when I went out to read after I woke.”

 _Cullen_ was  _training just before dawn._ She knew her cheeks were red with that thought. When she looked to Cullen, she knew he had thought much the same. A red flush crept up his neck to his ears.

“When breakfast had come and gone without any sign of either of you, we started searching,” she continued. “We were about to raise alarms to alert the entire hold when Leliana and Josephine returned to the war room with news that they’d found _both_  of you,” Cassandra finished with a quick of her eyebrow.

Amallia twisted her fingers together wondering how she could explain this politely as she looked from Josephine, to Leliana, then Cassandra. “Well,” she began as she cleared her throat, “I–”

Cullen interrupted her. “It is my fault, Cassandra.”

Amallia stamped her foot. “It is not,  _Cullen_. We both wanted to. You just …”

He interrupted her again. “Mal, it was a mistake.”

The words stung far more than she would have imagined. Raw, unbridled, fury took control, all feelings of nervousness fleeing as her fists balled at her sides. “A _mistake_?” she hissed. “Mistake?!”

The pained frustration on Cullen’s face tempered her anger momentarily and he took the chance to launch into an explanation. “No, Mal, that is not … it was  _not_  a mistake, but it is definitely  _my_  fault that we are late this morning,” he clarified, brow knitted in worry.

Cassandra looked between the two of them, eyes narrowed in suspicion. When neither of the spoke – Amallia fuming and Cullen looking as though he wanted to die – she turned to Leliana. “Where did you find them?”

Leliana smiled as she looked first at Cullen, then to Amallia. “In her bed.”

Cassandra’s eyes popped. It took her several seconds to process what Leliana has said. “What do you mean, ‘in her bed’?”

Leliana turned to her. “It appears our dear Inquisitor and Commander are in love.”

Cassandra turned to Amallia then to Cullen. She was standing at the opposite end of the war table to Josephine’s left, but she quickly covered the distance between her and Cullen. For a second, Amallia thought she was going to punch him dead in the face, but instead she hugged him.

“Maker’s breath, Cullen, I thought you’d never tell her,” she said, muffled by his furs.

Cullen, ever the bashful chantry boy, blushed fully to his hairline, returning the hug after a stunned second. “Thank you, Cassandra. I am relieved to know I had your faith all along,” he chided.

“Oh, you know what I meant,” she shoved him that time, leaving his hug and rounded on Amallia. Cassandra wasn’t a big woman, but she was taller than Amallia and broader of shoulder. She wrapped her arms around the Inquisitor, practically crushing her.

“Don’t be mad at him,” Cassandra quipped as she pulled back to face her. “He’s too pretty to stay mad at.” Amallia laughed despite her lingering anger.

Cullen rolled his eyes. “As lovely as this morning has been,” he started and Leliana giggled  _again,_ “ _We_  have serious business to attend to,” he said over her.

Amallia sighed.  _No rest for the wicked, indeed._ “He is right, I’m afraid. Josephine, do you have more information on our invitations to Halamshiral?” She grinned as she threw a side-eyed glance to Cullen.

“Oh, Maker, that’s not what I meant,” Cullen groaned into his hand as he pinched the bridge of his nose, the other hand planting on the war table to support himself.

“Right,” Josephine cleared her throat. “Based on Amallia’s experience of the future, we have investigated and uncovered a plot to assassinate Empress Celene. I’ve used many of the Inquisition’s favors to be invited to the Winter Palace, so it would be best for us  _all_  to go,” she finished clearly indicating Cullen’s desire not to attend.

The discussion continued for less than an hour, preliminary planning going smoothly, and the meeting adjourned. They each filed out of the room, Amallia behind Cullen, as was her custom.

“A ball. Sounds exciting,” she said to his back.

He made a disgusted noise that sounded far too similar to Cassandra. “Sounds dreadful,” he huffed as he made room in the hallway for her to walk by his side.

“It won’t be so terrible. We’ll be together at least,” she suggested as she slipped her hand into his.

“Yes. A ball will now be far easier to face with you there,” he said to her, smiling.

They walked through the doors to the great hall and Cullen took his leave of her, having to tend to the training of recruits in the yard. She would be meeting with diplomats most of the day. And in less than two days, they would depart for the Winter Palace.


	13. A Dance Lesson

The next morning, Cullen stood in front of a full mirror in his office, glaring at his reflection. Josephine had woken him early for his formal uniform fitting and she had not given him time to wash. Unkempt waves curled about his forehead and ears. When he attempted to reach up to smooth his hair back, the jacket restricted him. “Does it really have to fit like this?” he asked Josephine.

“Yes, is it tight?” Joephine asked from his right, dressed identically.

He grimaced. “I can hardly move my arms. What if I need to draw my sword? I can’t even reach my hip,” he said as he attempted the movement. Josephine mimicked him and could reach her opposite side without issue.

“I believe this is due to your …” she began, words faltering as Amallia entered without knocking.

Before Cullen looked, he shouted, “For fucks sake, Jim, how many –”

Josephine cleared her throat, gaining Cullen’s attention. She gestured to the door where he finally turned to see Amallia standing with her small smile and wide eyes. He said nothing, only stared. Josephine gathered her things and approached her.

“We’ll need to fit you shortly as well. Please don’t be long, I’ll find you in your rooms,” she said and then left.

Cullen turned back to the mirror, scrutinizing his appearance further. The jacket was far too tight across the chest and even snug in the waist and hips. It was clearly meant to be a fashionable garment, not practical in the least. He tugged at the bottom to straighten it, adjusting the sash as it bunched in the wrong places …

The reflection in the mirror betrayed Amallia. Cullen snatched her wrist as she was reaching out to pinch him – the woman could  _pinch_ , he had the bruises to prove it. With her right hand firmly in his grasp, he turned into her and swiftly wrapped her in his embrace, right arm around her waist.

“It seems as though you are too fast for me and I am now at your mercy,” she said with a coy smirk.

“What _ever_  shall I do with you, Mal?” he mocked her. “Throw you over my knee? Take you on my desk? Bend you over the foot of my bed?” He dove for her neck to kiss, nip at the sensitive flesh.

“Yes, all of them,” she sighed at his touch and Cullen felt her roll her hips against him. A swell of heat shot straight between his legs at the feel of her body against his and he saw that she had felt him twitch. 

He moaned against her neck, breathing heavily at his wandering thoughts, debating if they had time. “Josephine said you should not take too long.”

She pouted, disappointed. “And I would hate to muss up your wonderful uniform. You look … delicious.” She had moved away, holding him out at arm’s length to admire his appearance again. “Although …” she said with a giggle as she ran her fingers through his hair. “Is this what it does normally?”

Cullen closed his eyes at the soft touch of her fingertips on his scalp. “Oh … yes,” he mumbled through his lazy smile.

“Is that why Varric calls you Curly?” she jested.

His eyes popped open. “ _Yes_ ,”he snapped as he snatched her back into his arms. “Speaking of Varric,” he began with a smirk and narrowed glare. “Why does he call you Flash?”

His face was inches from hers and he could feel her breath, hot against his lips. When she bit her bottom lip, Cullen had to refrain from kissing her. He stared as Amallia rolled her eyes and scoffed.

“Is it not obvious?” she asked.

Unsure of what she meant, he pondered a moment. When he took too long to respond, Amallia  _stepped._ In a burst of blue light, she disappeared from his grasp and reappeared across the room in the far corner instantly. At first, Cullen was stunned by the sudden explosion of magic so near him. The call of lyrium nearly crippled him but he held fast, focusing on her.

“It’s … perfect,” he said with a strained chuckle. “Fla–”

Amallia cut him off, disappearing again and reappearing right in front of him with her lips sealed over his. His arms wrapped around her waist and his hands roamed, one grasping her bottom, the other burying in her hair. With her touch, the ache for lyrium paled in comparison to his ache for her.

When she broke from him, he shivered. “I couldn’t resist. You should wear dress uniforms more often.”

Cullen made such a disgusted noise, it rivaled Cassandra. “I  _loathe_  dress uniforms. They’re entirely impractical. I can hardly move!” his voice raised in exasperation.

“You shouldn’t have to move. The only thing you need to be able to do in a dress uniform is dance.” She adjusted, moving her left hand to his bicep, arm resting on his, and right hand delicately slipped into his left. She stood straight, snug in his right arm that naturally wrapped under her, his hand softly splayed at her shoulder blade.

He stood taller, shoulders pulled back and chin higher, dignified. It felt to Amallia as though he fell into the position naturally when she had placed her arms on him.

“Are you sure you don’t dance?” She looked to him suspiciously with a side-eyed stare.

He looked not at her, but into the distance that wasn’t in his office. His stare had a far-off look, glazed, as though he were someplace else, some  _time_  else.

“Cullen,” she whispered as she stepped back.

He followed her, stepping forward as she stepped backwards, and his subconscious took over. Amallia took another step, and he followed, another, and he mirrored. Before long, they were across the room and he was staring at her, but not seeing her.

She stopped and he did, too. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and drew her into a close hug, arms wrapping under hers. “Oh, Mal, I’m sorry …”

Amallia cradled his head against her shoulder. “Please, don’t,” she soothed him. “But you’ll have to explain what you’re apologizing for.”

He looked her dead in the eye with a fear she had not seen before. “It was a long time ago. A woman I once knew.”

Her brow furrowed. “At Kinloch? A mage?”

He nodded. “She … she is a wonderful person, and you probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

She laughed softly at that. “Try me, I’ve got a few more minutes before Josie sends out a search party.” She released him, walking over to his desk to find his breakfast tray half uneaten and began picking at it. When she turned back to him, she found Cullen staring into the distance again as if he was wondering how to put words to his thoughts.

“I was assigned to this mage, as are all Templars, and I had to see her through her harrowing. I was to be the one to cut her down if a demon possessed her,” he grumbled. “I thought nothing of it at the time. Until I learned more about her. We became friends.”

Amallia smirked. “It seems as though you have a habit of befriending mages.”

His crooked smile hooked the right corner of his lips. “That I do.” He walked to his desk to sit next to her. “As I was saying, we became friends. In fact, I fell for her.” He looked to Amallia to gauge her reaction to this, happy to find that she said nothing at all, nonplussed, munching away on fruit from his tray.

“Her name is Amodisia.”

Amallia’s jaw dropped. “Hold on,” she said as she pushed off from the desk and faced him. “You, Cullen Stanton Rutherford, fell in love with the Hero of Fereldan? Are you shitting me?”

“See, I said you would not believe me!” he exclaimed with a huff.

Amallia shook her head in vehement disagreement. “No, I  _do_  believe you, entirely. First the Hero of Fereldan, now the Inquisitor. Is there something I should know about Hawke?” she joked.

“Very funny, Mal,” he retorted. “And no, while Hawke and I worked together, she was completely uninterested.”

“Sorry, I was not trying to prod,” she apologized.

He fanned away her apology with a wave of his hand and a small smile. “Like I was saying, I fell for Amodisia early, but then the Circle went insane, blood mages, demons, abominations,” he said with a shudder. “It was terrible. I was … tortured.”

The glazed look returned, his eyes staring straight ahead as horrifying memories long-buried resurfaced. Amallia took his hand in both of hers and held it tightly. “Cullen. Look at me.”

Slowly, he dragged his gaze back to hers and whatever his mind had conjured up faded. Calm focus returned as did his smile. “Sorry,” he sighed. “I told Amodisia I was wrong for ever having said anything to her about my feelings, and she left again after she helped wrest control of the tower back.”

They sat in silence for a moment before Amallia asked, “You danced with her?”

He grinned at that. “She taught me, briefly,” he said as he looked up to her. “It is definitely one of the few bright memories I have from then. But it was a long time ago. She is wed to a  _king_  now,” he scoffed with an official tone and a roll of his eyes.

“I’ve heard he’s kind of a prat,” Amallia joked.

“He’s insufferable,” he replied, still grinning. She could tell he didn’t mean it.

“Well, I suppose I should get to Josie before she sends Jim after me,” she said as she stepped back for the door.

Cullen stood and straightened his jacket. Amallia stopped to admire him for a second longer. “You really do look quite dashing in that uniform.” She continued for the door, stepping backwards.

He eyed her suspiciously, then realized she meant it and straightened even further. Head tilted to the side and chin raised, he asked, “Dashing enough to be your Commander?”

She grinned wickedly at him as she slipped through the door. “Dashing enough to bend me over your desk later. Until then, my love.” With that, she shut the door, leaving Cullen agape, aching for her.


End file.
